The Road Less Traveled
by Icy Mike Molson
Summary: After their caravan is attacked and destroyed on the road to Lut Gholein, six unlikely allies must make their way through the desert to the port city without losing their lives to demons... or each other.
1. Survivors

****

I

The wagons bounce along uncomfortably, tracing the long, rocky roads out of the Sanctuary Pass and into the deserts between the Rogue Monastery and the distant city of Lut Gholein. The pass had been open only recently, but rumors and sightings of demons and undead all throughout the Rogue Lands and the Dry Hills still kept many from traveling the now dangerous route from west to east. 

Xaviar, Paladin of Zakarum, was one of those few people, resting wearily in the rear of one of the larger wagons as it creaked and groaned its way east. While he had not been involved in the destruction of the Demon Queen Andariel, he had seen more fighting than he cared to remember throughout Sanctuary and the lands to the north. All across the land, it seemed, the dead rose from their graves to attack the living and demons laid siege to villages and towns. Tristram had been one such place; no one, except for the Horadrim Sorcerer Deckard Cain the Elder, had survived the brutal assault of demons and undead. While Xaviar and many fellow warriors had fought bravely against the demons, they had been too few in number to stem the dark tide that had flooded across the land. The defeat of Anduriel had been a great blow against the dark forces in the west, but the rogues still had not completely regained control of their now shattered monastery, and caravans were still in danger of being raided and destroyed as they left the Tamoe Highlands.

Xaviar looked around the wagon for a moment, and once again took stock of the only other occupant of the vehicle. She was a tall, blond haired woman, her dark eyes half closed as she swayed with the rocking of the wagon. Her lean, muscular frame was partially hidden under a large red cloak and a suit of chain mail, while her helm, studded with a single, flawed ruby, rested between her feet. A long spear with a wide, reddish golden blade lay flat on the ground behind her, while a sheaf of javelins and a small backpack rested on top of a pile of cloth bolts. For two days he had shared the wagon with the woman, apparently an Amazon far from her native lands to the south, but neither had said a word to the other. As Xavier began to turn away from the young woman, she opened her eyes and looked across the wagon at him.

"Greetings, paladin," she said in an even, formal tone. She looked over the ebon skinned man with an appraising eye, her gaze resting for a long moment on either his white surcoat embroidered with a blue dragon coiling around a golden sun, or, more likely, on the blue tinted splint mail he wore beneath the vestment. Finally, her dark eyes came back up to meet Xaviar's oddly hazel eyes. "You are a long way from your troubled land."

"As are you, Amazon," Xaviar noted, recognizing the woman's heritage. The Amazon smiled slightly.

"We have far fewer troubles in our lands, for the moment," she explained. "I am here to make certain that things stay that way."

"We are glad to have your aid," Xaviar said. "Did you take part in the battle to clear the Rogue Monastery?"

"Only in a more peripheral sense," the Amazon replied. "I fought along side several allies in the Tamoe Highlands, distracting the corrupted rogues while one of your kind, a paladin, led a small group into the monastery itself." The Amazon hesitated for a moment, and looked down. "We won, but we paid a heavy price."

"Are your allies moving on to Lut Gholein now, as well?" Xaviar inquired. The Amazon shook her head.

"Most of them are remaining in the Highlands, for the time being," she answered. "There are still many demons to be routed. Once the danger to travelers has passed, they plan to follow me to the east."

Xaviar nodded, and leaned forward slightly as he examined his grand scepter. The Order Bar was a relic of his kind, created in former days of glory when the Zakarum paladins wielded immense might and magic, but now such powerful weapons were fewer and farther in between. While the demons seemed to carry large numbers of magical weapons and armor, the forces of light seemed to have a terrible disadvantage in battle.

"What is your name, paladin?" the Amazon inquired, breaking the silence and scattering Xaviar's train of thought.

"I am Xaviar, of Kurast," the paladin replied.

"I am Io," the Amazon said. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Xaviar. But I find it odd that you are so far from home."

"When the troubles in Kurast began, I was already in the northlands beyond the Tamoe Highlands," Xaviar explained. "I lent my aid to those fighting in the Rogue Lands, but now that the threat Andariel posed has been destroyed, I hope to make my way back to Kurast and find out what has happened."

"That is a long journey," Io commented. Xaviar nodded in agreement. The two fell into silence again. For a long time Xaviar stared out through the rear of the wagon, watching the sun slowly descend behind the mountains that lay more than a day's journey behind them. Outside, the sparse forests of the Tamoe Highlands were turning to sand and rocks, heralding the boundary to the Dry Hills, the great, rocky desert that lay between the Rogue Monastery and the port city of Lut Gholein. It would still be several days through the barren wastes to the Far Oasis, and then another week or more to the city of Lut Gholein itself. Once they reached the port, Xaviar was certain that he could find a ship that would put out to sea, heading for Kurast. It would, he hoped, only be a matter of a month or so before he reached the homeland that he had not seen in over two years. So much time had passed that he feared for the safety of those he had left behind. There had been too many rumors, of the Council of Kurast turning to the darkness, and of the dark jungle reclaiming the once great city. 

The wagons suddenly bumped to a halt, interrupting the paladin's thoughts of his homeland. It had grown almost completely dark out now, with only a few shreds of crimson and purple marring the night sky over the mountains. Io stood and stretched slowly, working the kinks out of her back and legs, and then turned to her fellow traveler.

"May as well take the chance to get out of the wagon," the Amazon stated. "Chances are we'll be sleeping inside this rat trap come the dark."

"It would be safer that way, yes," Xaviar commented, finally standing himself. The paladin smoothed out his surcoat and picked up his sturdy crown shield, then turned to the open rear of the wagon as Io dropped down off of the gate. With a final glance back at his own backpack and full helm sitting against the wall of the cart, the paladin jumped down off of the wagon and followed Io to the center of the circled caravan.

They had only come to a stop a few minutes before, but Xaviar found the teamsters quickly and efficiently feeding their horses and gathering brush from a small cart to create a fire in the center of the ring. Several women were already preparing the food in a second small wagon, so that once the fire was hot enough they could begin cooking immediately. Xaviar watched the caravan members go about their business for a few minutes, but then turned his eyes eastward.

The rocky dunes of the Dry Hills spread out for as far as the eye could see to the east, and the traders' roads that the caravan would follow appeared, at least to the paladin, poorly marked at best. For a long time Xaviar gazed absently out into the darkness, once again letting his thoughts begin to drift back to his distant home.

Something in the distance suddenly snapped him out of his reverie. The paladin could have sworn that he had seen some kind of light on the horizon, but now nothing presented itself to him in the dark wastes. For a long moment the paladin's eyes focused on the dunes, until a hand on his shoulder caused him to jump in surprise.

"You should come back into the camp, paladin," one of the teamsters remarked, unconcerned with Xaviar's startled reaction. The man was a desert dweller by his looks, his aquiline face weathered by the desert sun and wind driven sands of his dry homeland. The teamster idly rearranged his turban on his head as he nodded to the desert. "There will be plenty of time to see the sands of the Dry Hills soon enough. The desert night will grow cold, and you will want a place close to the fire."

"I thought I saw a light out there," Xaviar said, looking back out to the desert one more time. "Are there any other travelers ahead of us?"

"Desert mirages, that is all," the teamster explained. "Or perhaps it was another caravan. Some people prefer to travel by night, to avoid the heat of the day. Come. Dinner is nearly ready."

Xaviar nodded, and the driver started back into the circle of wagons and the fire. A sitar began to play from the center of the camp, followed by a pipe and drum as the teamsters relaxed for the night. The paladin watched the darkness for another minute, but then turned and walked back into the center of the ring.

In the short time that it had taken for the last lights of the day to vanish in the west, the teamsters had set their fire and already begun cooking. A large cauldron filled with watery stew sat boiling over the flames, while women distributed water and spirits to the men of the caravan. A few small children, sons and daughters of the teamsters, played beneath the wagons as the adults began to chat around the fire, talking of demon raids as often as they spoke of the money they could make with their current wares. Xaviar procured a large flask of water from the commissary wagon, and sat down against another cart's wheel as the stew began to boil. On the opposite side of the fire, Io made do with her own company, sitting crosslegged on the sandy ground with a wedge of cheese and some dried meat. Even in the relative safety of the camp the Amazon kept her spear near her; the tall weapon leaned against the wagon they had shared for the last two days, its tip glinting in the increasing firelight. Of course, Xaviar thought, he was also guilty of not feeling completely at ease; Order Bar still hung from his belt, and he had brought his shield out, ostensibly to use as a seat. And he still wore his splint mail, even though the armor was far from light and comfortable. For a long moment the paladin considered removing the cumbersome splint mail, but finally decided against it. There was no telling what could come out of the dark, silent dunes to attack the small caravan.

One of the cooks suddenly called out from the fire, letting the caravan know that the stew was ready. Xaviar started to stand, but only made it as far as one knee when he was hit from behind and knocked back to the ground. Looking up, the paladin found himself facing a huge man with long blond hair turning back to him, a look of surprise on his thinly bearded face.

"Sorry about that," the man said, extending a beefy hand to Xaviar to help him up. The paladin took hold, and the stranger easily hauled him back to his feet. "I didn't even realize you were there."

"It's alright," Xaviar replied, steadying himself on his feet and turning to the man. While Xaviar was far from small and well built, he was dwarfed by the immensely powerful frame of the man before him. He was at least half a foot taller than the paladin, and his arms bulged with muscles where his ring mail shirt and gray fur cape did not cover him. Slung on the man's back was a huge, silver maul inscribed with runes like the ones Xaviar had seen during his time in the north, and a pendant carved from granite and inlaid with amethyst hung from a simple cord around his neck. "You're a north man, are you not?"

"I am," the blond haired stranger replied with a bit of a smile. "Only most of your kind would call us barbarians."

"Most people know nothing of your culture," Xaviar explained. "I have spent over a year in the north."

"Then maybe you heard of Clan Snowhammer," the barbarian said with pride. "I am Sihvo, a proud warrior of the clan."

"You have traveled a long way from your home," Xaviar noted. Sihvo Snowhammer nodded, his smile growing wider.

"I am traveling to bring honor to my clan," the barbarian explained. "Honor, and great riches as well."

"Then I wish you luck," Xaviar said. Sihvo nodded, and looked back to the cooking pot.

"Well, I have to get moving, before the stew is gone," the barbarian explained. "Hope your travels go well, paladin."

"And yours as well," Xaviar said, although the young barbarian was already heading for the food. The paladin took another moment to brush the sand off of his surcoat and mail, and finally made his own way to the stew pot. Sihvo waved and smiled as he walked away, carrying two bowls of the steaming dinner, and headed back outside of the circle. As Xaviar took his own food, Io found him again, and smiled faintly.

"I see you met Snowhammer the Clumsy," the Amazon remarked. The paladin nodded. "He must be blind, to stumble into so many people like he does."

"He seems a nice person," Xaviar said, waiting as the young woman received her own meal. "A bit reckless, but he is young."

"And strong," Io commented. "I know few that could use such a large hammer with any effectiveness at all."

"Then we should count ourselves lucky that he is on our si8de," Xaviar observed. Io chuckled slightly at the statement.

"Yes, as long as he doesn't accidentally swing into one of us," the Amazon stated. Xaviar smiled at the comment, and opened his mouth to reply to the remark.

He never got the chance to speak, however, as a bloodcurdling series of battle cries went up around the caravan.

Xaviar jumped to his feet in an instant, grabbing Order Bar and his crown shield, but in the split second it had taken him to react to battle it seemed as though half the caravan had been slaughtered. Tall, spindly, four armed demons raced through the camp, slashing wildly with their scimitars and jabbing with their spears at the startled humans. Following behind and hurling entire wagons out of their way, huge, brutish demons with oddly small heads carrying monstrous great clubs charged forward, shattering bodies with each swing of their gigantic weapons.

"Bring me strength," Xaviar prayed, taking only a second to utter his prayer. He could already feel the force of his Might channeling through his body as he surged forward, slamming into the first of the demonic giants in his way. Order whirled in a mighty arc, its heavy, macelike head igniting with fire as the weapon impacted against the demon's side. The monster screamed in pain and dropped back, allowing two more of its kind through, but Xaviar once again channeled his holy power, calling upon his Zeal and striking out with a flurry of blows against the two demons. Order Bar slammed through one demon's arm, but Xaviar wasted no time with the crippled demon as he surged forward and landed two more hits on the second demon. The giant stumbled back with a final bellow of pain as the scepter cracked his tiny skull, but once again the paladin wasted no time as he turned back on the first demon and raised his shield to intercept the beast's huge, brass studded club.

The force of the blow was enough to push Xaviar back ten feet, but his crown shield held under the onslaught. The demon was already charging in again, but Xaviar was not content to let the monster come to him. The paladin charged forward headlong, putting up his shield to deflect another crushing blow from the monster and then surging forward with a powerful backhanded swing of Order Bar. The scepter's head ignited a second time, and the weapon impacted with a burst of fire just beneath the giant's outstretched arms. Bones broke and flesh sizzled as the demon dropped on its back, letting out a last growl before it slipped into death. A guttural snarl emanated from behind the paladin, and Xaviar turned quickly on one of the four armed demons raising its curved blades to strike down the paladin. Although he raised his shield in time to deflect one wicked, serrated scimitar, the demon's second strike crept under his defenses and found a seam in his splint mail.

A burst of ice and wind erupted from the splint mail as the demon drew blood, throwing the monster back and stunning it for the briefest moment. Xaviar charged forward once again, this time catching the demon with a vicious uppercut that snapped its head straight back. The demon toppled backwards and Xaviar surged forward, coming to the aid of one badly outnumbered teamster as he tried to hold off another pair of the four armed demons. Xaviar's first blow crushed the spine of one demon, and with a strong backhand knocked the second raider away with his shield. The teamster smiled in gratitude for a brief moment, but then his eyes went wide as he saw a new attacker coming from behind the paladin.

The first demon that Xaviar had struck was back, its club descending as it bellowed in rage. Xaviar threw up his shield quickly to block the weapon, but once again the demon's brute force was enough to knock him back and send shock waves up and down his shield arm. The teamster rushed forward with his spear, intending to impale the monster, but the demon simply backhanded the unfortunate man with his club, shattering his skull and throwing him into the fire. Xaviar scrambled back to his feet, ready to finish the demon, but a blast of ice shot past his head and completed the job he had started. The giant fell to its knees as ice formed across its body, but then its legs broke at the knees and the monster fell forward to shatter into a mess of frozen blood and bone. With a second to take stock of the situation, Xaviar glanced around the caravan, trying to find a rally point for the beleaguered defenders.

One skeleton rose out of the ground on his left, then another. Xaviar did not even think as he called upon his mystical reserves and launched a pair of holy bolts at each undead, shattering the creatures' bones before they could turn on an enemy. Another of the four armed demons rushed forward to attack him, but the paladin parried away one scimitar and trusted his armor to absorb the impact of a second. Before the monster could pull its blades back for another attack, Xaviar rushed forward once again, slamming his shield into the monster's face and then smashing Order Bar into the creature's fully exposed chest. Just as the monster's rib cage collapsed under the scepter's force, a huge, silvery maul rammed the demon's head down through its shoulder blades, revealing Snowhammer standing behind the monster.

"This battle is lost!" the barbarian exclaimed, lifting his maul and turning to face another demon. Xaviar glanced around quickly, and realized that his ally was right; most of the caravan had already been slaughtered, but even more distressing was the fact that the paladin could see the brutish demons tearing through the wagons to loot the trade goods and take the caravan members as slaves. On the other side of the camp, Xaviar could see Io still fighting with a cool determination, the broad blade of her spear wreathed in fire and crackling with lightning as she rammed the weapon into another of the four armed demons. Near the Amazon, a young woman with flowing auburn hair threw off another burst of ice, stopping one of the four armed demons in its tracks, but a second raider closed the distance before she could recover and cast again. The monster's spear pierced through her side, knocking the woman to the ground, but the demon had no chance to finish its job as a clay golem hit it from behind with a powerful, two handed blow.

"Let's move!" Xaviar ordered, turning back to the barbarian as Snowhammer crushed the skull of yet another demon. "Get to Io!"

"Where?" Snowhammer asked, turning in confusion. Xaviar pointed with Order Bar to the spear wielding Amazon.

"Get to her!" the paladin clarified. "We need to try to regroup!"

"Then follow me!" Snowhammer shouted, taking the lead. Two demons tried to get in his way, but the barbarian's maul slammed through one while Xaviar flanked left and hit the other with a powerful strike from Order Bar. Io was slowly being backed up against her wagon, but the Amazon remained cool and determined as she impaled another of the four armed demons and hurled it to the side. With a final burst of speed forward, Xaviar and Snowhammer reached the woman, and quickly moved back to back as more of the demons began to swarm around them.

"Hey paladin!" Snowhammer shouted, hefting his maul and batting away yet another demon. "It has been an honor to fight by your side!"

"We aren't dead yet, boy!" Io snarled. Even as she said the words, however, a new wave of demons joined the fray, taking the odds from frightening to hopeless. With a final prayer, Xaviar called upon his Defiance, but could only hope that the defensive aura he had created around himself and his allies would last through the assault.

****

II

"Am I dead?"

"Not yet," Xaviar replied with a bit of a smile as he stood over Snowhammer. The barbarian squinted in the early morning sun, slowly trying to focus on his surroundings. "You came close, but you're not dead."

"How did we survive?" Snowhammer asked, trying to sit up. Waves of pain shot through his sides and chest as he tried, however, forcing him to drop back to the ground. "What happened?"

"You fought well, but there were too many of them," Xaviar answered. Snowhammer's ring mail and fur cape were both shredded, and the barbarian had been badly wounded by the scimitars that the four armed demons wielded. In a circle around the warrior, more than a dozen of the four armed demons and easily a half dozen more giants lay shattered and frozen on the ground, testimony to the barbarian's ferocious assaults with his silver maul of frost. "In the end, they simply retreated."

"Disappeared into the night, is closer to the truth," Io corrected, looking out to the dunes as she leaned on her blood spattered spear. The Amazon also sported a number of slashes and bruises from the frantic fight, and after a moment the barbarian noted that she leaned on her spear because her right leg could not support her weight. "I still don't understand why they left."

"The Blunderbores got what they came for," a cool, masculine voice said from one of the destroyed wagons. The three survivors turned on the sound, to see a pale, gaunt man with platinum blond hair and ice blue eyes sitting on the charred remains of a wagon. Dressed in fairly loose black robes and ebon hued chain mail and carrying a shield made of bone, the man was almost as frightening as the demons of the previous night's battle. "As for the Sand Raiders, well, I guess we put up enough resistance to make them lose interest in trying to kill us. But rest assured, they'll return tonight, in order to finish the job."

"Who are you?" Io asked, gingerly trying to put weight on her leg as she raised her spear slightly.

"My name is Wyszemir," the pale man replied.

"He's a necromancer," Xaviar stated coldly. Wyzsemir smiled.

"I am indeed," the man affirmed. "You, paladin, should be certain of your targets before you simply loose your holy might. You destroyed at least two potential allies last night."

"I do not count skeletons as my allies," Xaviar spat. "Nor do I count necromancers."

"That's too bad," Wyszemir said with a bit of a smirk. "Because, like it or not, we appear to be stuck with each other. At least until we reach Lut Gholein."

"I can change that," Snowhammer growled, pulling himself to his feet and lifting his silvery maul. He stopped a heartbeat later, however, as a wavy bladed short sword found its way to his throat.

"Easy, barbarian," a slightly built young woman said, a smile on her face. While her skin was nearly as pale as the necromancer's, her hair was raven black and her eyes a deep, cold brown. Her _kris_ blade remained at Snowhammer's throat as she circled to his front, her blackened studded leather armor making no noise as she moved. "You don't want to bother Wyszemir. Trust me."

"Thank you, Stasya," Wyszemir said, his smirk growing wider as he dropped down off of the charred wagon. He turned to Xaviar for a moment, once again growing serious. "We have no choice, paladin. There are too few of us as it is to hold off everything this desert can throw at us."

"We can head back to Sanctuary," Snowhammer said, most of his attention still on Stasya and her _kris_. "It is only a few days back."

"A few days back to the highlands, yes," Wyszemir countered. "Then we face an uphill climb through demon infested mountains, at least a week or more, until we reach the monastery."

"He is right," Io said, reluctantly agreeing with the necromancer. "The Far Oasis is our best chance right now. I suggest we check what's left of the wagons for any supplies we can salvage, and then make our way there."

"Will you be a good boy now?" Stasya inquired, looking up at Snowhammer with a devilish grin. The barbarian merely glared at her.

"I think it will be alright," Wyszemir said, turning back to the assassin. Stasya nodded, and pulled her _kris_ away from Snowhammer's throat. With a final pat to the barbarian's shoulder, Stasya sheathed her blade and moved to Wyszemir's side.

"What about the rest of the caravan?" Xaviar asked.

"Unless you wish me to raise them as an undead guard, there is nothing more we can do for them," the necromancer stated.

"The giants took prisoners," Xaviar stated. Wyszemir nodded thoughtfully.

"Food," the necromancer stated. "If they are not yet dead, then they soon will be. No concern of ours any more."

"Your compassion is touching," Io spat.

"Compassion nothing," Wyszemir said with a derisive chuckle. "I am being reasonable. We have no supplies and no idea which way they went. If you go after them, you're committing slow suicide in a trackless desert."

"They'd need a base to operate from," Xaviar said, scanning the horizon. To the north, a low series of basalt and sandstone ridges protruded from the dunes. "Chances are they would make their home in the rocks."

"That's likely more than a day away," Wyszemir observed. "And they'll probably see us coming. Not to mention the fact that they've probably eaten their victims already."

"But you can't say that for certain," Xaviar countered. Wyszemir drew a deep breath, holding back his irritation.

"You can't say for certain that they're alive," the necromancer countered. "Blunderbores are notoriously ravenous, especially when confronted with a feast of human flesh." He paused for a moment, and his face took on a sinister grin. "I hear they favor the flesh of a paladin most."

"Enough!" Io shouted, moving between the two men. "This bickering is pointless! No matter what we're doing or where we're going, we need some kind of supplies, so I suggest we put our differences aside for the moment and see what we can find in this disaster! I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't feel like standing around here arguing which direction to go off in while there's an army of demons that knows exactly where we are!"

"She's right," Xaviar said, still glaring coldly at the necromancer. "See what you can gather up for the journey."

"Of course," Wyszemir said, his icy grin still in place. "Once we are provisioned, we will discuss our route again."

"Of course," Xaviar stated, his voice beginning to sound more like a snarl. Neither the paladin nor the necromancer would break the staredown for a long moment.

"Let's go, Wyszemir," Stasya put in, taking the pale man's arm. Wyszemir gave a last, vicious grin to his ally of inconvenience, then turned to follow the darkly attractive assassin through the smoking wagons. Slowly Snowhammer turned as well, heading back through the wagons to find his own provisions. Xaviar finally turned back to the wagon that he had traveled in during the journey east, letting out a sigh of disgust as Io came to his side.

"We didn't already have enough problems," the Amazon said, still using her spear as a makeshift cane. Xaviar nodded in agreement. "The worst part of it all is that we probably need them."

"I know," Xaviar said, his distaste obvious in his face and his voice. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

___________________________________________________

The wagon that Snowhammer had used as transportation over the last several days was nothing more than a smoking hulk when he finally found it. The barbarian stared at the wreckage for a long moment, wondering if it would be worth digging through the ashes in search of his jawbone cap or the throwing axes that he had left near several containers of spices, but finally decided against it. His time would be better served searching for food or water among the ruins. The barbarian turned and gingerly hefted his maul, wandering back through a cluster of wagons that had not burned so completely.

Snowhammer turned a corner to walk between two of the destroyed wagons, and stopped for a moment as he found a full dozen corpses in his way. Most of them had been bloodied beyond recognition or crushed into an unidentifiable pulp, but two or three were not so badly mauled. Two men with broken spears and shredded leather armor had likely tried to hold off an assault from one side of the wagons, while a third person, a young woman gripping a staff in her hands and wearing hard leather armor studded with a single chipped sapphire, lay twisted around on the ground at his end. Slowly Snowhammer squatted next to the young woman, brushing her thick, auburn hair back from her soot covered face with one large hand.

She cried out in surprise and swiped at his hand with the end of her staff.

Snowhammer bounced back to his feet and dove away, falling flat on his back as he lost his balance in his hurry to escape what he thought might be an undead beast. The barbarian stumbled and rolled back into a fighting stance, his maul at the ready, but the young sorceress was still on the ground, frantically trying to push herself up off the ground with only her arms.

"My legs won't move," the girl said, her blue eyes going wide with terror. "I can't move my legs!"

"Easy," Snowhammer said, coming back to the girl's side as she frantically tried to make her legs obey her mind's commands. "Just rest easy. Maybe if you give it a moment to relax, you'll be able to move."

"A minute to relax?" the girl repeated, looking up incredulously at the barbarian. "I'm paralyzed! A minute to relax isn't going to help me!"

"What's going on?" Xaviar asked as he hurried to the other end of the alley created by the smoking wagons. He stopped as he saw the young woman on the ground. "Another survivor?"

"She might be paralyzed," Snowhammer said, looking up to the paladin. Xaviar made his way cautiously past the two fallen teamsters and the slain family member they had tried to protect, and knelt next to the frightened sorceress. Slowly he examined the young woman, then knelt back and folded his hands in prayer.

"I'm never going to walk again, and he's praying," the girl said, looking to Snowhammer. The barbarian shrugged. "What is he doing?"

"Believe it or not, his prayers have done quite a bit for us already," Snowhammer said, shrugging. A moment later, Xaviar opened his eyes, and pushed himself back to his feet.

"Get up," he said simply. The woman glared at him for a moment, but then tried again to stand. Although she still had some difficulty, she rapidly rose to her feet with a look of shock on her face.

"How…" was all the sorceress could manage.

"The Sand Raiders must have used some poisoned blades," Xaviar replied. "Two of your cuts were inflamed, a sure sign of poisoning. I simply cleansed the toxins from your blood."

"Never stop a paladin in the middle of a prayer," Snowhammer said, although his tone clearly indicated that he was impressed and surprised by the paladin's simple actions.

"What is your name?" Xaviar inquired, turning to the girl.

"Tara," the sorceress replied. "I was heading east to find the Horadrim sorcerer Deckard Cain."

"You may as well travel with us, then," Snowhammer said. "We're east as well, to the city of Lut Gholein. My name is Snowhammer, and this is Xaviar of Zakarum."

"What about the rest of the caravan?" Tara asked, seeing the bodies scattered about the alley. "Are they all…"

"No," Xaviar replied. "Several of them were taken captive. There is still a debate as to whether or not we should go after them."

"What's the debate?" Tara asked, incredulous. "We… we can't just leave them to get eaten or whatever the demons do with their prisoners!"

"We don't know if we have the supplies to reach them, is the problem," Snowhammer explained. "And they could even be dead already."

"But… we can't just leave them!" Tara exclaimed. "I… they're people!"

"Try explaining that to a necromancer," Xaviar grumbled.

"Necromancer?" Tara repeated. "Where? What necromancer?"

"I must have been the best kept secret on the trip," Wyszemir said, appearing over the two slain spearmen. "Really, I know I came out of the wagon at some point during the trip. My name s Wyszemir, dear, and I am pleased to meet a fellow student of the mystic arts."

"You are not a fellow of mine," Tara spat, glaring at the necromancer. Slowly she raised her azure tinted staff in front of her, but Wyszemir simply chuckled.

"A pity," the necromancer said. "Maybe, the next time you have been stabbed by a Sand Raider and are about to be eviscerated, I will not send my clay golem to the rescue."

Tara glared at the pale man for a moment, but could say nothing. She remembered too clearly the muddy construct that had attacked one of the Sand Raiders that had pinned her down, drawing its attention away from her long enough to allow her to drink a healing potion. Wyszemir saw the realization on her face, and turned to Xaviar.

"Maybe we are not so evil, after all," the necromancer said with an arrogant grin. The he turned away, clasping his hands behind his back. "Shall we continue to provision ourselves and prepare for our departure? The Far Oasis is, as the name says, far away."

Tara, Xaviar, and Snowhammer watched the arrogant necromancer disappear around the wagons for a long moment, then Snowhammer turned to his two companions.

"I really hate that son of a bitch," the barbarian stated simply.


	2. Into the Wastes

****

III

"Ah, there you are."

"What is that?" Tara asked, watching as Snowhammer pulled a large board of wood and ivory from the last charred remains of one of the wagons. The barbarian turned to her with a bit of a smile, and held it up for her to examine.

"A charm, I guess is what you would call it," Snowhammer explained. "It makes me tougher. Long as I have it on me, the demons won't be able to put me down as easily."

"If you say so," Tara said, taking the charm from the barbarian for a moment. She could feel magical energy coursing through the unwieldy item, but the patterns that the energy created were unfamiliar to her. "It just seems a little large to be carrying around all over the place."

"You get used to it," Snowhammer said, stuffing the board into a small pack and slinging it over his shoulder. He looked over to Tara, and noticed that she carried nothing more than her azure staff and her leather armor. "Don't you have anything else?"

"Well, that was my wagon," Tara explained, pointing to an unrecognizable heap of charred wood. She shrugged as she turned back to Snowhammer. "Everything I own went up in smoke."

"Sorry about that," Snowhammer said. He hesitated for a moment, then smiled slightly. "I'll uh, buy you some clothes once we reach Lut Gholein."

"You're too kind," Tara said. Snowhammer could not tell if the sorceress was sincere or not, but he had little time to concern himself with that as Io joined the pair. Thanks to a handful of healing potions that they had discovered in one of the smaller wagons, the Amazon no longer limped as she walked, but she still preferred to use her spear as a sort of walking stick.

"You two have everything you need?" Io inquired, looking from one to the other and taking stock of what gear they had recovered.

"Don't have anything more than the armor on my back," Tara said.

"What about you?" Io asked, turning to Snowhammer without a single note of sympathy to the sorceress. The barbarian shrugged.

"Got everything I need, at any rate," he stated.

"Good," Io said. "We'll be moving in a few minutes, just as soon as Wyszemir and Stasya gather up one or two more items."

"We could move without them," Snowhammer suggested. Io turned back to him with a scowl. "Just a thought."

Io nodded curtly, and started back to Xaviar. The paladin was standing on the edge of the destroyed wagon circle, his gaze shifting between the ridges to the north and the two ebon clad survivors. For a moment the two conversed quietly, but then Io shrugged and started away from the paladin again. Finally, Xaviar started back into the camp, striding purposefully towards Stasya as she picked through the remains of the largest wagon in the caravan.

"What do you think he's going to do?" Tara inquired idly, looking up at the far taller barbarian.

"Maybe he'll pray," Snowhammer replied. Tara gave him a skeptical look, but the barbarian simply shrugged. "Hey, it's worked so far."

__________________________________________________

"Can I help you gather anything up?"

"I think I've got it," Stasya said as she looked up at Xaviar. The assassin was busily working on the stout lock that sealed the caravan pay chest, and did nothing to conceal her actions as the paladin watched her for a moment. "I just need a couple more minutes, and we should have everything we need."

"I assumed as much," Xaviar said. The paladin idly ran his finger along the edge of his crown shield, checking it for any serious nicks after the preceding night's battle, but then returned his attention to the assassin and the pay chest. "You know," the paladin started in a offhand tone, "I'm surprised the Sand Raiders didn't run off with that."

"Their loss," Stasya remarked absently, still focused on her work. Xaviar nodded in agreement.

"I hear they take all sorts of gold and jewels with them when they attack the caravans along this route," the paladin said. He went back to studying the front of his shield, running a finger along the rim of a particularly nasty dent to the left of center. "I figure there must be a fortune up in those ridges, if someone could sneak in and get it."

"You're not subtle, but you're almost convincing," Stasya noted as she gave her lock picks a final turn. The lock snapped open with a satisfying click. The assassin examined the meager contents of the pay chest for a long moment, and then turned back to Xaviar. "So tell me, Paladin of Zakarum, exactly how much gold and jewels do you think are up in those ridges?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to bother you with those details," Xaviar said, waving his hand. "I mean, we're heading on a straight course to the Far Oasis, so it doesn't really do us any good to think about what might be up in those ridges."

"I see where you're going," Stasya said, an amused smile coming to her face. She looked over her shoulder to where Wyszemir was going through a last few items before stuffing them in his pack. "If I get Wyszemir to follow your plan to go save some poor, helpless caravan survivors, you'll give me the lion's share of any treasure we find up there. Is that right?"

"Well, I can give you my share," Xaviar said. "That means you would get twice what anyone else would get, and I'm certain that even you would have a hard time spending so much gold."

"You've never seen me spend before," Stasya said with a smirk. "Okay. I'll talk to Wyszemir. But your friends there might have to kick in some funds as well, considering that I'm sure Wyszemir will want something above and beyond regular party shares for undertaking such an asinine mission."

"I'm sure we'll be able to work something out," Xaviar promised. The assassin stood up, and slowly made her way to the necromancer. Behind him, Xaviar heard Io picking her way through the debris.

"I didn't think paladins were allowed to lie," the Amazon stated with a touch of humor.

"I didn't lie," Xaviar countered, a smirk on his own face. "I simply extrapolated."

"Oh, is that what you call it?" Io inquired dubiously.

"I never said I knew for certain that the demons had a lot of gold and treasure," Xaviar said. "I simply assumed that they did, considering the number of stories about demons stealing pay chests and expensive cargoes."

"Well, let's hope that Wyszemir goes along with your assumption, as well," Io stated, watching Stasya as she explained her newfound desire to head north to the necromancer. Wyszemir stared up at the young woman for a long moment, shock and outrage in his normally calm, cold eyes, as the assassin tried to talk her ally into changing his mind about tracking down the demons. Finally, Wyszemir turned a furious glare on Xaviar, and angrily jumped to his feet. "I think he wants to talk to you," Io observed, her voice flat.

"This ought to be an interesting conversation," Xaviar sighed as the necromancer stormed across the ruined camp to the two warriors. The paladin braced himself for the inevitable confrontation as the necromancer stalked across the last dozen yards, privately satisfied with the fact that he had finally gotten under Wyszemir's skin.

"We are not heading north," the necromancer stated with a tone of finality. "We have just enough supplies to get ourselves to the Far Oasis. If we stop and take on more people and a lot of treasure that you seem to have convinced Stasya is up in those mountains, we'll never make it to anyplace where we can use that wealth!"

"I'm sure Stasya wouldn't be so careless as to charge off after her fortune without considering her chances of returning to the nearest city," Xaviar stated. "At any rate, wizard, it seems that five people are heading north, and you are heading east. Good luck taking the road by yourself. I wish you speed in your travels."

"Xaviar," Wyszemir said, speaking through clenched teeth. The paladin had begun to turn, but stopped as the necromancer called out his name. Wyszemir hesitated for a long moment, obviously unwilling to swallow his pride, but finally he managed to spit out his next words. "We'll head north. Fine. We'll rescue your precious caravan. But on one condition."

"What's that?" Xaviar asked.

"There will be no more questioning of my methods," Wyszemir stated. "I'm going to raise one of the pack animals to carry our extra provisions. We cannot afford to tire ourselves out if you plan on attacking a lair full of Blunderbores and Sand Raiders. And when we meet up with the demons, you let my skeletons be. At any rate, I have the feeling you're going to need them."

Xaviar hesitated for a long moment, weighing the value of his morals against his need to have as many allies as possible in the vast desert that faced him. Under most circumstances, the paladin would have flatly denied the necromancer his request, but the fact of the matter was that he had few people with true experience in combat. Io was a tried and tested warrior, but Snowhammer had the look and feel of a young, brash fighter inexperienced in true combat, and Tara was too young to have seen much, if any, real fighting before the raid on the caravan. Even if Stasya went along with Xaviar, valuing treasure over Wyszemir's company, the odds were still stacked against the paladin and his small party.

"Keep the skeletons to a minimum," Io put in, speaking before Xaviar could make the decision himself. "Is that acceptable to you, Xaviar?"

Xaviar remained silent for a long moment, still unwilling to meet the necromancer's single term. Silently he tried to gauge his tiny band's chances against the demons without the help of Wyszemir, and most likely Stasya, as well.

"Well, Xaviar?" Wyszemir prompted, his anger at the situation slowly dissipating as he waited for what seemed to be an inevitable answer. Xaviar took a long moment as he glared at his pale companion.

"It will have to do, for now," the paladin replied, his hazel eyes still locked on the necromancer. Wyszemir smiled slightly, apparently considering the argument a victory in his favor.

"It is a deal, then," the necromancer said, turning back to his final preparations. "I will be curious to see how well a paladin can fight with the aid of skeletons, rather than simply bashing their skulls in with scepters and maces."

Xaviar watched the arrogant necromancer stride away for a moment, then turned an angry glare on the Amazon standing next to him.

"Don't start," Io warned, already expecting a verbal assault from her dark skinned companion. "We need him, and you know it. At this point, we can't let your principles stand in the way of rescuing those caravan members that may still be alive."

"He has an utter disregard for life and his magic is an abomination," Xaviar snarled, watching as Wyszemir began to appraise the fallen horses for an appropriate pack animal. Io nodded, unwilling to dispute the point.

"Ironic, though, isn't it?" the Amazon observed. "Turning evil against evil. To tell the truth, I think it's time the demons faced some of the same horrors that we have seen."

Xaviar turned on the Amazon, shocked by her statement. When Io offered no further explanation for her belief, the paladin turned and stalked away, trying to force his anger out of his mind as he finished packing.

______________________________________________________

It was still well before midday when the small band prepared to move, but the sun was already beginning to bake the desert sands with its unbearable heat. Without any other shelter from the sun, Tara remained half a step behind Snowhammer, trying to stay in the meager shade that the man's huge frame created. Xaviar stood at the edge of the camp, watching the northern horizon for any signs of his quarry. Slowly Wyszemir made his way to the front of the tiny band, leading along an obviously dead horse weighted down with all the provisions the group had scavenged from the wagons. As he reached the paladin, Wyszemir smiled slightly, adjusting the makeshift white turban that had wrapped around his head.

"Well, we'd better get moving," the necromancer stated with a tone that bordered on smug as Xaviar looked with disgust at the half gutted pack animal. "Sun's already hot, and we haven't even begun."

Xaviar gave a curt nod to the necromancer, and set out into the desert without a single word. Wyszemir watched him go, feigning surprise at the paladin's cold treatment.

"He's not friendly, even for a paladin," Stasya said, coming to Wyszemir's side. She giggled slightly at her statement, but Wyszemir's smile faded the slightest bit with his ally's appearance.

"It's your fault that we're going out on this fool's quest," the necromancer pointed out, turning to the assassin. Stasya batted her eyes at the necromancer as she lowered her head slightly and kicked at the sand, acting out the part of an admonished child. Wyszemir let out one last sigh of resignation, then turned to follow the paladin across the rocky desert. "Well, at least there won't be anyone left alive," the necromancer said, more to himself than anyone else. "Because we certainly won't have enough food and water to get us all to the oasis."

"Tell me, Wyszemir, is every necromancer as caring and compassionate as you?" Io inquired, following the death mage and Stasya as they kept a few yards behind Xaviar. Tara watched them go for a moment, then turned to Snowhammer.

"You don't think he's right, do you?" the sorceress inquired. "You don't think the demons would have killed all of their prisoners already, do you?"

"Well, I…" Snowhammer started. He stalled for a long moment, trying to read something in the young sorceress' face. "No, I doubt it. Wyszemir's just a bastard, is all."

"Of course," Tara said, unconvinced by the barbarian's guarded answer.

****

IV

She had to admit that the undead pack animal was not a completely terrible idea.

Io leaned up against a narrow spire of basalt that jutted up from the desert sands, hiding from the harsh desert sun as it began to set in the west. A good six hours of walking seemed to bring them no closer to their distant goal than they had been in the morning, and the daytime heat had taken its toll on the six travelers. Snowhammer was obviously unused to the terrible heat, and had stripped off his damaged ring mail and fur cape in an attempt to keep cool. While he may have succeeded to some extent in that manner, the barbarian's shoulders and back were now scorched to a bright red. Tara had not repeated Snowhammer's mistake, opting to keep her leather armor and loose blue robes, but the young sorceress' eyes were unfocused and she appeared to be on the verge of passing out from exhaustion. Wyszemir and Stasya were faring better than the two youngest members of the group, but not by much; Stasya's face was red and dry, and Wyszemir had abandoned his chain mail and wore a flowing white cloak with a deep cowl over his now bare shoulders to try and protect his pale skin. Only Xaviar, a native of the hot, fetid jungles of Kurast, was truly suited to the weather they faced, and he seemed not to be in the mood to help his companions adjust to the unbearable heat. Io herself was slightly burned along her arms and face, but the Amazon had faced campaigns in hot climates, and knew enough to keep her cloak loosely fastened to her shoulders to block as much sunlight as possible.

"We need to stop for a little bit," the Amazon pointed out, trying to gain the paladin's attention. "We've gone far enough for the day."

"We can make it a little farther," Xaviar argued, turning back to the Amazon. "We still need to cover some distance if we want to reach the ridges in time."

"If we reach the ridges in this condition, it won't matter," Io stated. "You're driving us into the ground, Xaviar. If we find any demons now, we'll be torn apart."

"We can still go a little further," Tara put in, though she sounded almost delirious from heat exhaustion. "Just a few more miles."

"You need to rest, Tara," Io said, looking back to the sorceress. Then she turned again to Xaviar. "We lost enough people already in that raid. Don't kill anyone else by force marching us across the desert."

"You should listen to the woman, Xaviar," Wyszemir added, leaning against the edge of the basalt spike. "At the very least, we should take a few minutes to rest. Five minutes won't hurt, and the sun will be lower in the sky."

"We keep moving," Xaviar stated. "The next formation is only a few miles off. I can carry Tara, if need be."

"Just a few minutes," Snowhammer said, adding his own voice to the opposition. "We could use the rest, at any rate. You know, grab some water and chart out our course."

"I'd like to be able to carry that treasure once we reach it," Stasya added, leaning against the spire as she tried to recover from the long march. "The way you're pushing us, we'll get there just in time to get slaughtered by those demons."

"That settles it," Io stated, folding her arms across her chest as she met the paladin's angry gaze. "We stop here."

"We need a more defensible position," Xaviar argued.

"We need to stop before we all die of exhaustion!" Io countered, growing furious with the obstinate warrior. "We won't be able to help those prisoners if we never make it to their lair! Stop being an idiot, Xaviar!"

Xaviar remained motionless for a long moment, glaring at the Amazon with a stony anger, but Io refused to give in to the paladin's insane demand to continue the journey. Finally, Xavier moved back a few steps to the spire.

"Fine," the paladin conceded, his voice little more than a growl as he maintained a cold glare on the Amazon. "We'll rest here. But we move again as soon as we're ready."

"We're not going any farther?" Tara asked, surprised by the decision to make camp. Snowhammer nodded to her. "But… we need… a more defensible position."

"You need to rest," the barbarian observed, noting with concern that the sorceress could not seem to focus on anything. Putting one arm around her shoulder, he gently guided Tara to the basalt spire. "Sit down here, and I'll get you some water."

"We can go a few more miles," Tara said, weakly trying to stand. Snowhammer shook his head.

"You've got determination, but you're not taking another step until you get some rest," the barbarian said with a bit of a smile. "Now wait here. I'll get you some water."

____________________________________________________________

Without tents, wagons, or even so much as a source of firewood, it took almost no time to make camp. Tara passed out from exhaustion only a few moments after Snowhammer had forced her to drink some water and lie down, and it had not taken much longer for Stasya to follow suit. Snowhammer remained awake, more out of the pain of his sunburn than for any other reason, while Wyszemir sat just out of sight on the opposite side of the basalt spire. Xaviar, still furious with being stopped for the night by his fellow travelers, sat just north of the camp on a broken chunk of sandstone, watching the crescent moon rise into the cloudless desert sky. With the sunset, the temperature was rapidly dropping, but the six travelers could do little more than bundle up in what blankets they had brought on Wyszemir's undead horse.

Io glanced around the camp once more, taking stock of the small party. Unlike the nights with the trading caravan, where music and conversation had lasted well into the darkness, exhaustion and mutual distrust seemed to rule the tiny site. Wyszemir kept to himself, idly examining the marking on his yew wand and showing the typical necromancer's disdain for socializing, while Snowhammer had no interest in being around the spellcaster. The barbarian kept close to the comatose Tara, but she had pushed herself so hard during the march that she would likely not wake again until well into the next day. Snowhammer himself winced in pain with every move he took, aggravating his scorched skin as he tried not to touch anything. Stasya curled up in fitful sleep beneath a light blanket, keeping her _kris_ blade in hand and her back to a tiny, flat basalt rock only a few yards from the spire. Finally, Xaviar's singleminded desire to reach the demons' encampment without regard to the party's need for rest kept him isolated from the rest of the small band, especially the woman that he obviously felt had betrayed him.

Io finally stood from her bedroll, and walked over to the weighted down pack horse. After a moment of sifting through her pack hidden beneath the armor that had been shed during the day, she found a bottle of thick, reddish liquid. Taking the flask and closing her pack, the Amazon walked over to Snowhammer, and handed the bottle to the barbarian.

"You'll be no good to us if you can't fight," Io said simply. "Hopefully, that healing potion will help the sunburn."

"Thanks," Snowhammer said, taking the potion. "But shouldn't we save these for the fight? I mean, if we come across a group of demons out here, we may need to heal something worse than sunburn."

"If you go into battle with sunburn that bad, you won't even be able to wear what's left of your ring mail," Io said. "Better you fight effectively than not at all."

"If you insist," Snowhammer said, although he was more than happy to do anything to relieve his sunburn. The barbarian took a long draught of the potion, then set the empty flask on the ground in front of him. "Already feels better," Snowhammer said, trying to take a good look at his shoulders in the light of the moon. Finally, he turned back to Io with a bit of a grin. "You know, you're not a terrible person, at least for an Amazon."

"Coming from an uncultured northern barbarian like you, I'll take that as a compliment," Io said, though she could not completely hide her amusement at the remark under her characteristically flat mannerisms. Snowhammer chuckled a little as he looked down, but then grew serious again.

"You think he's going to try to kill us again tomorrow?" the barbarian inquired, gesturing to Xavier's moonlit form sitting away from the camp. Io shrugged.

"I'm going to talk to him about that," the Amazon said. "We can't do another day like today."

"Good," Snowhammer said. "Because I still have to figure out a way to keep the sun off me without baking to death inside my armor."

"You have time," Io promised. Slowly she turned away from the barbarian, and slowly made her way to the paladin. Xaviar looked up as he heard her approach, but said nothing. For a long moment the Amazon simply stared out into the darkness, following the paladin's gaze to the north.

"You realize we have to slow down," Io finally said, leaning on her spear. "You may be at home in this weather, but the others are not."

"We don't have time," Xaviar said, not turning away from the north. "Every day we delay, there's less of a chance that the prisoners will be alive."

"You're turning into a fanatic over this," Io said. "Did you know anyone that was taken?"

"No," Xaviar replied. "But no one deserves to die that way."

"And no one deserves to die of heat and exhaustion," Io countered. She pointed back to the camp. "You almost killed Tara today. If you do the same thing to her tomorrow, all of your prayers of endurance and strength will mean nothing. And then there will only be five of us."

Xaviar hesitated for a long moment, looking back to the camp only for the briefest instant.

"There's not enough of us," Xaviar said quietly. Io waited for a moment, expecting the paladin to continue, but the ebon skinned man remained silent as he continued to watch the north.

"There'll be one less if we continue like this," the Amazon finally said.

"I didn't mean us," Xaviar said. "I meant…"

The paladin said nothing more, but picked at his surcoat, showing the symbol of the dragon and sun to his companion.

"You're not going to find any more with those demons," Io said, still uncertain as to where Xaviar was headed. The paladin sighed, and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Once, the Paladins of Zakarum were a shining example of the forces of Light," Xaviar finally started. "Whenever a demon managed to escape the pits of Hell, we were the ones to hunt him down and destroy him. We were powerful, and we were many. Now…"

Xaviar trailed off for a moment, and shook his head.

"Now we are few, and scattered," the paladin said. "I was in the northlands when I heard of the problems in Kurast. That was over two years ago. I have been trying to return home since then. Every day brings a new delay."

"I know of the problems," Io said. "I've heard of the demons that have attacked your land, and the jungle beginning to reclaim your cities."

"Not demons," Xaviar said. "The High Council."

"High Council?" Io repeated, stunned. "The High Council of Travincal?"

"They are no longer our allies," Xaviar said. "When I was in the north, a young paladin came to find me, a student of mine several years ago. He told me that the Council had turned on the people, and that they had remained in Travincal even when the jungles and the hellspawn of Mephisto had overtaken so much of Kurast. Their followers, my brethren, now feed off of the power of the Lord of Hatred, and willingly aid the demons in their attempts to besiege the port of Kurast. Every day I am away, they lose more ground to my fallen brothers. Now they need mercenaries to defend what is left of the city."

"You can continue on, if you want," Io said. "I'll lead the others to find the rest of the caravan, and-"

"I can't just abandon these people to the whims of demons," Xaviar cut in, turning on the Amazon. The paladin's frustration was clear on his face as he tried to explain the situation. "That's not an option. But the sooner we reach the demons and free their captives, the sooner we continue east. Not to mention the ravenous appetites of the Blunderbores, if Wyszemir is to be believed."

"I know you're anxious to reach your homeland, Xaviar, but we have to take things one step at a time," Io explained. "If we die trying to find these demons, then you'll never get back to help your people. But if we take one extra day and do it right, then we'll be able to leave for Kurast as soon as we reach Lut Gholein. And I'll go back to Kurast with you, and help you put an end to the demons plaguing the city."

"I can't ask you to do that," Xaviar said. "I doubt there will be much reward in battling the demons in Kurast."

"If Kurast falls, then so does the rest of Sanctuary," Io pointed out. "Then our victory at the Rogue Monastery was a waste."

Xaviar said nothing for a long moment, but simply looked to the ridges in the distance. Io waited patiently by his side, leaning on her spear. The only noise to break the silence was a sudden, violent snore from Snowhammer as the barbarian finally fell asleep. At long last, Xaviar turned back to the Amazon, and a ghost of a smile crept across his face.

"Alright," he finally said. "We'll slow down a little. And thank you for your offer to journey to Kurast with me."

"It wasn't an offer," Io said, turning back to the camp. "It was a promise."


	3. A Quick Addendum

This is not actually a part of the story. This is a simple addendum by Icy Mike Molson.

THEY ARE ROGUES!!!!!!! NOT ROUGES!!!!!!!

A Rogue is a chick with a bow. Rouge is either French for red or some kind of makeup that is, ironically, red. This has been driving me insane through most of the stories I have read on this site.

Thank you, drive through. Back to the story.


	4. Skeletons and Scarab Beetles

****

V

"This is a much better pace. I don't actually feel like someone is trying to kill me."

"Well I'm glad you're happy, Wyszemir," Xaviar grumbled, throwing a cold glance over his shoulder at the necromancer. Wyszemir smiled a bit as he uncorked his waterskin and sat down against the edge of a long, low sandstone embankment jutting out of the desert.

"And stopping at midday," Wyszemir added, watching Snowhammer simply flop to the ground under the shade of the embankment. Tara took a seat just out of the sun's rays, and Stasya was already practically pushing herself into a small hole in the embankment's side to escape the heat. Even stoic Io moved in out of the sun, leaving Xaviar alone standing on a small, roughly square hunk of basalt just outside of the meager shade. "I am truly glad you have discovered the benefits of resting."

"And we were getting along so well," Snowhammer interjected, lying flat on his back with his eyes closed. After a second he sat up again, and caught a waterskin that Io tossed from their undead packhorse. "Can't we just pretend to like each other for a few minutes?"

"Xaviar, come in out of the sun and have a drink," Io stated simply, holding out a full waterskin for the paladin. Xaviar cast one last look to the desert to the north, but the only objects between the small band and the distant ridges were small sheets of basalt and sandstone half buried in the sand. Finally, the paladin took advantage of the shade, and retrieved the waterskin from the Amazon's outstretched hand. For a long moment the six travelers sat in silence, drinking their fill after their long morning march.

"You think we'll reach those ridges by the end of the day?" Snowhammer finally asked, breaking the silence. Wyszemir narrowed his eyes slightly, gazing out at their distant goal.

"We'll see," Io said, judging the distance for herself. Wyszemir smiled slightly at the Amazon's tactful dodge of the question.

"No," the necromancer said simply. "We'll need at least another day or so to reach the ridges. Especially with the heat building the way it is."

"The demons came out a long way to make their assault," Stasya commented idly.

"They don't have much of a choice," Xaviar explained. "There aren't any other natural defensible positions for a large group near the roads. If they had built a fortress, they would have been too obvious."

"Besides, I'm certain the demons had better ways of getting back to their lair than walking," Wyszemir added. "There are all kinds of magic that can quickly transport a group from one place to another."

"I wish we knew what they were," Tara said impatiently. "We're wasting time here."

"Ah, the impatience of youth," Wyszemir said wistfully, turning to the young sorceress. Tara rolled her eyes in disgust. "So tell me, spellcaster, what is it that drives you so hard to find these demons? We know that Xaviar would blindly chase a good cause across a desert, but what is it that motivates you?"

"My need to get this over with and get away from you," Tara replied coldly. Stasya laughed.

"She's been infected by Xaviar's holier-than-thou speeches," the assassin remarked, absently rubbing at something on the emerald pommel of her _kris_ blade. "She's going to become a paladin, just like her hero."

"Better a paladin than an assassin," Tara stated, her words dripping with venom.

"Yes, but not nearly so profitable," Stasya countered with an obviously false smile.

"It's harder to tell how far off something is out here," Snowhammer said, trying to change the conversation before the two young women could come to blows. "Back in the north, you could tell how far off something was by taking stock of other landmarks between you and your goal. Here, there's really nothing to judge by. I don't know how the people out here do it."

"It takes a lot of practice," Io answered, seizing the opportunity to keep her companions from fighting. "That, and you just need to know the basic lay of the land, I guess."

"Did you hear something?" Stasya asked. Io turned back to her, confused, but before she could speak, a brilliant shock of lightning exploded on the embankment almost directly above the assassin.

Wyszemir turned quickly, already preparing his spells as a group of feline humanoids rushed over the embankment with sabers and javelins at the ready. The necromancer raised his shield in time to deflect one of the javelins, then threw off a spell of his own. Ghostly teeth exploded from the pale man's hand, streaking forward and ripping through the studded leather armor of the lead Saber Cat. With his immediate attacker slowed, Wyszemir turned quickly and threw off a second spell, this one to amplify the damage that the Saber Cats that were swarming in on Snowhammer. The barbarian's huge maul slammed down on one cat's head just as the spell took effect, and the feline's skull exploded under the force of the blow.

Two more Saber Cats rushed in on Wyszemir, joining their injured companion, but Stasya suddenly appeared in their way, ducking under one sweeping slash and gutting the injured feline with a swift strike of her own. The assassin backed off a step as she was struck in the side by another saber, but she had already bought Wyszemir more than enough time to conjure his golem back into existence. The clay construct growled slightly as it lumbered forward and slammed its fists down on one surprised raider, but Wyszemir had already abandoned his construct to its own instincts as he launched another flurry of teeth at the approaching Saber Cats. Stasya dropped back to the necromancer as he threw up his shield to block another javelin, casting out an arc of shocking energy around her to hold off the press of their attackers.

"We could really use one or two of your skeletal buddies!" the assassin shouted, blocking a jagged saber with her buckler and stabbing into a Saber Cat with her _kris_. The wounded raider fell back as the _kris_ blade's poison coursed into its bloodstream, but two more Saber Cats were more than willing to fill the gap. Wyszemir glanced across the battlefield to make certain that Xaviar would not strike down his creations, but the paladin and Io were engaged in fierce combat of their own. Io fought with cool determination, showing no emotion as she impaled one Saber Cat and then and then launched a flurry of jabs through another pair, but Xaviar was a whirlwind of rage, driving back his enemies with a hail of powerful blows that could only come from a paladin's Zeal. The necromancer smiled and turned back to his enemies, blocking away another strike with his bone shield and pointing to a pair of the slain Saber Cats on the ground.

One skeleton rose from the bodies, casting off skin and flesh in a grisly pool of congealing blood, then another, each one wielding a short sword and carrying a round shield. Wyszemir pointed to a third fallen Saber Cat, and a third skeleton ripped free of its flesh, this one with its hands wreathed in crackling electricity. The necromancer considered adding a few more skeletons to his group of constructs, but Xaviar was already close to finishing off his group and the small group of reinforcements was already performing effectively. Stasya ducked through a pair of javelins and came up in front of another Saber Cat, ripping up through the feline's chest with her _kris_ from its waist to its jaw. With the sudden ambush already drawing to a close, Wyszemir backed off a few steps, watching Xaviar tear through the last of his enemies with a thunderous vengeance. A series of ice bolts and ice blasts warded off a last group of Saber Cats, unleashed by Tara, while Snowhammer's devastating accuracy and skill with his maul was more than a match for even four of the feline raiders. A last sickening crack issued out from one last Saber Cat as Wyszemir's golem crushed its enemy's head in its hands, but as suddenly as it began, the ambush had ended. Two Saber Cats tried to scramble back over the embankment and flee, but Stasya drew her hand back and threw off a pair of crystalline shards that exploded into flame just in front of the Saber Cats. Snowhammer overtook them with a monstrous leap as they stalled, smashing his maul down on one even as he landed. Tara finished the last one with an ice blast before it could try to attack the barbarian. For a moment the battlefield fell silent but for the quiet crackle of lightning around the skeleton mage's hands.

"Well, that wasn't such a chore," Wyszemir said, smiling slightly and kicking one of the dead felines. Xaviar turned to the necromancer, glaring for a long moment as he saw the skeletons and golem awaiting their next orders.

"Dismiss them," the paladin snarled, gesturing with his grand scepter at the skeletons.

"Now I kept the skeletons to a minimum," the necromancer said, folding his arms across his chest. "I think we could use the extra sets of hands. Every expedition needs porters."

"The pack horse is enough," Xaviar stated. "Dismiss them."

"We were nearly ambushed by Saber Cats," Wyszemir said. Although he continued to lock eyes with Xaviar, he began addressing Io more than the paladin. "If not for Stasya's charged bolt trap, we may very well have been killed. I think the skeletons will make excellent sentries. Don't you, Io?"

Io hesitated for a long moment. Wyszemir easily saw what he had been aiming for in the Amazon's eyes as her tactical side argued the use of three tireless sentries with her emotional side.

"Dismiss them, or I will dismiss them for you," Xaviar warned. Wyszemir's grin became notably colder.

"Try," the necromancer challenged. Xaviar took a step forward, but Io pushed him back with one hand.

"One skeleton," the Amazon stated. "One skeleton, and the golem."

"No skeletons," Xaviar said.

"One skeleton," Io reiterated, turning to the paladin. "He's right about needing sentries. And it's not like they were human skeletons. So let it go."

"I don't like it, but right now we could use as many fighters as we can get," Snowhammer said. "Just one skeleton won't be too bad. Right?"

Xaviar glared at Io, furious. The Amazon expected some kind of barrage from the man, but the paladin simply turned and stalked off into the desert, taking up the journey to the ridges once more.

"Good riddance," Stasya said, pulling a pouch of gold coins from the belt of one of the Saber Cats.

"Get your things," Io stated curtly. "Break's over. We're leaving."

"But we haven't checked the bodies for go- I mean, for any healing potions," Stasya complained.

"Get up and let's get moving," Io ordered. The assassin stood, anger growing in her own eyes, but Wyszemir put a hand on her shoulder.

"Easy now," the necromancer said quietly. Io watched the pair for a moment, but then turned and started off into the desert. Snowhammer hesitated for a moment, but then followed the Amazon. Tara stayed close by the barbarian's side, casting a quick glance over her shoulder at Wyszemir and Stasya. "Now is not the time," the necromancer continued as the other four walked out of earshot. "There will be plenty of opportunities to gather the spoils of war later."

"There better be," Stasya grumbled. "Xaviar needs to have an accident."

"Not now," Wyszemir said. "He is simply… misguided."

"I'll misguide him," Stasya growled, clenching her hand around the hilt of her kris. Wyszemir chuckled.

"I bet you would," the necromancer said. Slowly he started after the group, calling his golem and all three skeletons to his side. "We'd better get moving, or they'll get too far ahead."

"Aren't you going to dismiss two of the skeletons?" Stasya asked, watching the necromancer and his entourage.

"When they ask me to again," Wyszemir replied nonchalantly. Stasya hesitated for a moment, then looked back to the fallen Saber Cats near her. A quick glance brought nothing of value to her attention, but as she turned to follow Wyszemir, a reddish gleam caught her eye. Kneeling down, the assassin quickly rifled the Saber Cat's sash, and came up with an ornate crimson jewel in a gold setting. Smiling at her find, Stasya tucked the jewel into her own sash and hurried after the rest of the band.

****

VI

"Okay, we're here. Where are the demons?"

"I would think they're using some caves in the rocks," Xaviar answered, a sharp edge to his voice. Stasya simply ignored the paladin as she looked up at the seemingly infinite number of chasms, trails, and sheer cliffs.

"I don't see any caves," the assassin noted, a bit of irritability in her own voice. Since the fight against the Saber Cats the previous day, only Tara and Snowhammer had made any conversation at all, speaking quietly together when they thought they might have been out of earshot. To Stasya, it was obvious that Snowhammer was keenly interested in bedding the sorceress, but Tara tactfully warded off any advances the barbarian had made. Io and Xaviar were no longer on speaking terms, and Wyszemir was naturally antisocial to begin with. "So, where are all your caravan hostages?"

"Why don't you go scout ahead a little bit?" Xaviar snapped, turning on the girl. Once again, Io stepped between the two before a fight could begin.

"We find the hostages, and then we can kill each other," Io said sternly, looking from one to the other. "Understood?"

Xaviar and Stasya traded cold glances, but each one turned away to regard the ridges again.

"I'll send my skeletons," Wyszemir suggested. With relations strained to the breaking point, no one had asked for the necromancer to dismiss any of his minions a second time, and Wyszemir had simply kept all three in his entourage. "They should be able to find any nearby caves or demonic lairs."

"We're being watched," Snowhammer suddenly put in, looking up at a particularly tall ridge. Stasya followed the barbarian's line of sight to a four armed, spindly form silhouetted against the late afternoon sun, but it disappeared in only moments.

"So much for surprise," the assassin said. "But we know we're in the right place."

"More or less," Snowhammer said. "We still don't know exactly where they're all hiding."

"We're not going to find out by just standing here," Tara noted, brushing past the barbarian and making her way through the rocks.

"I, uh, guess we'd better follow," Snowhammer said, shrugging his shoulders in confusion at the sorceress' impatience. Xaviar nodded.

"Watch for an ambush or a trap," the paladin warned. "Especially now that they know we're coming."  
Snowhammer and Xaviar started into the rocks after Tara, and after another few seconds Io followed her three companions. Wyszemir took a step forward, then turned to Stasya.

"You might want to flank out," the necromancer suggested.

"Better than waiting in a line to die," Stasya agreed. Wyszemir nodded his agreement, then took his skeletons and golem and started up through the rocks after the rest of the band. Stasya waited once second more before she made her own way up through the rocks on the group's left, sheathing her _kris_ and stealthily climbing through the boulders and crevices that covered the ridges. As she moved, she kept one eye on Wyszemir, trailing the rest of the small group, and one eye on the rocks around her. With their presence already known, the assassin was certain that it would only be a matter of time before they were attacked by the demons that made their home in the formations.

It took only a short amount of time for Stasya to begin finding the evidence of demons in the area. Nothing grew in the ridges except for the occasional, scraggly sagebrush, and what few animals she found had been killed and torn to pieces. Odd, unidentifiable footprints marred the sandy floors of crevices and fissures, while the sandstone had in some places been chipped or broken by the heavy clubs the Blunderbores favored. The assassin continued to creep through the jagged ridges, ready to face an enemy at any moment, but as she descended out of sight of the rest of the band and into a short fissure, Stasya found the demons' dumping ground.

Even Stasya, hardened by her career as a killer, could not help but stop and stare in revulsion at the scene before her. Flies hummed in the air, buzzing in contentment around a half dozen pikes that had been driven into the ground. Each pike impaled the remains of a human, most dressed as caravan guards or the city watch from Lut Gholein itself. More skeletons were scattered across the ground, some still dressed in the last tattered remains of long destroyed armor or robes. A terrible stench filled the air as Stasya took one hesitant step forward, nearly making her gag from the overwhelming odor of rotting flesh. The assassin put one hand over her nose and mouth and took another small step forward, trying to decide if it was worth trying to go through the morbid site or find another way around it.

A glitter made up her mind for her. Under a pile of bones, something glistened in a shaft of sunlight that pierced the rocks. Steeling her will, Stasya crept forward, keeping one hand over her mouth and one hand on the emerald hilt of her _kris_, her eyes darting from side to side to make certain that whatever had left this massacre site was not about to return. She stopped as she thought she heard some kind of bizarre chittering, but it died away before she could even be certain that her mind was not playing tricks on her. Several smooth, glistening stones lay half buried beneath the sand, but she could finally make out the glitter that had caught her attention in the first place. Putting the last of her fears aside and moving with more confidence, the assassin reached the skeleton and pushed the bones out of the way. A smile came to her face as she knelt down and picked a silver ring set with a glimmering opal out of the remains.

A wave of electricity suddenly boiled up out of the sand, catching the assassin completely by surprise and hurling her back a full ten feet. Smoking and stunned, Stasya stumbled back against the wall of the tiny canyon, trying to regain complete control of her body as the "stones" in the grave site began to rise up out of the sands. Huge beetles reared up out of the ground, bearing mandibles at least as long as the assassin's _kris_ blade and sporting wicked hooks on their front two legs. Stasya turned to run back for the mouth of the canyon, but two of the huge insects were already in her way. Frantically the assassin spun around, but the beetles had already surrounded her on three sides, and behind her the crevice wall was a perfectly vertical, relatively smooth sheet of rock. As the beetles surrounded her, one, its carapace a brilliant blue that shimmered with an electric intensity, moved ahead of the group. Its huge, black compound eyes seemed to hold an angry glint as it regarded the human that had entered its territory.

"If you want the ring back, you can have it," Stasya offered, trying to buy time to make her muscles work properly. She could already feel the effects of her shock wearing off, but the assassin doubted she could take all of the Scarab Beetles surrounding her. The apparent leader took another step forward, then made a bizarre sound that the assassin could only guess was its language.

Then they all charged.

Stasya feinted left and then bolted right, hoping that she could open a hole in the beetles' line, but the insects did not fall for the trick for a second. The assassin lashed out quickly, her blade making solid contact with her first attacker, but the beetle's tough carapace deflected too much of the blow to allow her poisoned weapon to do its job. Electricity crackled around her as two more of the beetles discharged shock waves, but Stasya forced herself to stay on her feet as every muscle in her body twitched spasmodically. The assassin pushed forward, driving her _kris_ to the hilt ion another beetle as she let out a shriek of pain, then spun and kicked out viciously to send another sprawling backwards on the sand. Ripping her blade free, Stasya spun and called upon her Psychic Hammer, hitting the apparent leader dead on and forcing it away from her. More electricity burned her from the left, but Stasya did not allow herself to worry about the pain as she whirled again and managed to block a potentially lethal claw strike on her right. With her vision blurring from the repeated shocks and still trying desperately to hold off multiple attackers, the assassin sent a Blade Sentinel flashing off to her right and focused her concentration on her left, praying that she would have enough strength to hold off at least four beetles and their powerful leader. She managed to deflect two claw strikes from the demonic insects on her left, but never saw their leader launch an assault of its own until it was far too late. The beetle's hooks dug into her thigh through her studded leather armor, dragging her to the ground with an agonizing scream. Even as she hit the ground the beetle leaned down over her, its mandibles ready to tear into her throat.

Stasya's shield suddenly moved almost of its own accord, putting itself directly in line with the Scarab Beetle's assault. The insect's mandibles screeched across the metal surface of her buckler as Stasya recognized a paladin's Defiance aiding her, buying the assassin enough time to stab forward with her _kris_ blade. The beetle let out an ear piercing, pain filled shriek of its own, but its maddening chattering was lost in a disgusting cracking sound that came from one of Snowhammer's devastating leap attacks. As one Scarab Beetle fell to the ground, Xaviar found his way through and took up the fight for Stasya, while Wyszemir launched a barrage of teeth at more of the Scarab Beetles moving in on the group. Io hung back only a few feet as she hurled javelins at the insects, and Tara's ice blasts froze another pair of beetles in their tracks. At the other end of the canyon, Wyszemir's golem ponderously hammered away at a last Scarab Beetle, trampling the powdered remains of the necromancer's fallen skeletons. Practically straddling the assassin, Xaviar called upon his Vengeance once more, and a terrible shockwave of fire, ice, and electricity tore through the canyon as the paladin finally shattered the insect's exoskeleton and smashed its brains. Xaviar stumbled and nearly fell on top of the assassin, but managed to right himself at the last moment. The last of the electrical bursts faded out as Snowhammer and Tara combined to finish off the last Scarab Beetle, leaving a sharp tang of ozone in the air.

"Well, my skeletons are gone now," Wyszemir pointed out with a bit of a chuckle. The necromancer examined his badly battered golem, and shook his head. "Too bad about you too, boy," Wyszemir said. With a final pat to the broken construct's flat head, the golem faded back into the ground.

"Quite a miserable place you found, Stasya," Io remarked, appraising the now scorched remains of the humans. Tara nodded in agreement, wrinkling her nose in disgust. Xaviar turned and offered his hand to the bloody and battered Stasya. For a long moment the assassin stared up at him, trying to read the man's face, but she could still not figure out why he had so blatantly risked his life for her.

"Thank you," was all she could say.

"It's what paladins do," Xaviar explained simply. "Come on. Take my hand."

Stasya nodded wordlessly, still expecting something more from the paladin. As he lifted her back to her feet, Wyszemir came to her side, and held out a small healing potion.

"Got into a bit of a scrape, did we, dear?" the necromancer assumed.

"They ambushed me," Stasya informed him. Wyszemir smiled as he looked at the ring that the assassin still clutched in her shield hand.

"I'm certain," the necromancer said with a faint nod to her prize. Then he turned to the slain beetles, regarding the apparent leader with a bit of a wistful grin. "Ah, poor Dragonhack the Sharp. So terribly nasty, and yet so utterly killable. Nice shot, Xaviar."

"That thing has a name?" Snowhammer asked, surprised. Wyszemir looked up with amusement obvious on his face.

"I don't know if he picked it out, but the villagers in the eastern reaches of the Tamoe Highlands, where it borders the desert, gave him the name.," the death mage explained. "Some of these things do earn a name for themselves, even among the humans they terrorize."

"I think I heard of this one," Io added, casting away a javelin that had shattered against the tough carapace of one of the beetles. "A lot of villagers will rest easier, now that this demon has met its end."

"You think our Blunderbore friends might know we're here now?" Wyszemir inquired with a smirk, standing up from Dragonhack's putrid corpse. Xaviar nodded.

"If they somehow didn't know already, they couldn't have missed that fight," the paladin confirmed, hanging his scepter on his belt again.

"Well look at this," Snowhammer suddenly said, kneeling down where Stasya had originally found the silver ring. The rest of the group turned as the barbarian pulled a decaying wooden box from the sand, and then retrieved a suit of scale mail that somehow maintained its brilliant finish. "You don't mind if I keep this, do you? My ring mail's kind of ragged."

"I don't see why not," Xaviar said, looking around. "Unless anyone else has a problem with it?"

"I'll keep my chain mail," Io said. Tara shook her head, indicating that she would not take the armor either. Stasya appraised her ripped armor, then regarded the scale mail for a moment.

"A bit too heavy for me," she finally said.

"It's all yours," Xaviar said. He pulled a small scroll out of his pack, and handed it to the barbarian. "You might want to try this. With this armor's quality, it's bound to be magical."

"Thanks," Snowhammer said, taking the scroll. Stasya glanced down at her ring, wondering if she should ask for another of the scrolls to see if her own prize was magical, but thought better of it and simply tucked the ring away in her belt pouch.

"Well, while he does that, what do we do now?" Tara inquired. "Whether or not this bug was such a terrible threat, it's still not the one responsible for the caravan attack."

"No, but he did lead us to the right place," Io said, looking up. Wyszemir followed her line of sight, and nodded.

"That's the place," the necromancer confirmed. "I'd bet my life on it."

"What's the place?" Tara asked, looking from the Amazon to the necromancer.

"That little hole up there," Wyszemir said, pointing. Tara could make out a hole in the sandstone almost thirty feet above them. "The Blunderbores throw their garbage out that chute. Dragonhack and his Scarab Beetles will scavenge just as readily as they will kill fresh meat."

"So, how do we get up there?" Tara asked. Wyszemir turned to Stasya.

"Are you feeling well enough to climb yet?" the necromancer inquired.

"Ready as I'll ever be," the assassin replied. She handed her kris over to the necromancer, then examined the rock face for a moment. "Rope?"

"Ah, yes," Wyszemir said, turning back to the undead packhorse and removing a length of rope from the equipment. "Do be careful.," the necromancer said. "Let us know when you tie it off."

Stasya nodded, then turned to the rock face. Carefully the assassin began to climb up the sandstone, reaching the top with only one slight slip halfway up. Stasya disappeared for a moment inside the hole, then dropped the rope to the ground. The assassin signaled a thumbs up to the rest of her allies, then moved back inside the chute.

"Ladies first," Wyszemir offered, turning to Io. The Amazon simply frowned at him, then started the climb to the top. Snowhammer started up next, clad in his new scale mail, then Tara. Xaviar took hold of the rope next, then looked back to Wyszemir.

"What are you going to do with the pack horse?" the paladin inquired.

"Can't take it with us," Wyszemir replied. "I'll have it wait here. We already have all the potions, so that will not be a concern."

"Then we'll find it on the way out," Xaviar said. Wyszemir nodded.

"Your captives await your heroic rescue," the necromancer said, gesturing to the rope. Xaviar turned and started up the rope, leaving the necromancer at the bottom. Finally, Wyszemir took hold of the rope himself, and climbed up to the demons' garbage chute.


	5. Into the Lair

**VII**

"This is absolutely disgusting."

"Oh, it's not so bad," Wyszemir chided, taking in the gory walls and floor of the Blunderbores' garbage chute with an appraising eye. Dried blood was caked on the smooth stone, while shattered bits of bone rested on the floor and ragged tatters of rotting flesh clung to any rough edges in the rock. Tara turned back to the necromancer, appalled by his casual comment. Wyszemir noticed the girl's shocked expression, and chuckled slightly. "Too serious, Tara," the gaunt man said. "You're much too serious."

"Everything seems deserted, for the moment," Stasya reported, edging her way back down the upward slope of the chute. "I can't see or hear a thing for at least another thirty yards."

"Alas, poor soul, I knew him well," Wyszemir said solemnly, holding a chipped skull in his hand and gazing into its empty eye sockets.

"Cut that out," Xaviar admonished, slapping the skull out of Wyszemir's hand. "This is no time to be waxing dramatic."

"We'd better get moving," Io said, ignoring Wyszemir's theatrics. "Before they dump something else down here."

Xaviar nodded, and moved to the front of the small group. Wyszemir watched the paladin turn his back, then scooped up the skull again and tucked it into his satchel. The necromancer turned to the rest of the group, to find Snowhammer staring at him with a vaguely disgusted expression.

"I won't even ask," the barbarian decided.

"Better that you don't," Wyszemir agreed with a bit of a smirk. "Shall we continue?"

Snowhammer nodded, and turned back to the group as they started up the small tunnel.

The daylight streaming in through the small chute rapidly faded away, leaving the tiny band in almost total darkness. Xaviar crept along the side of the tunnel, carefully feeling his way along the bloodstained walls with one hand. Stasya was only a few yards ahead of him, but the paladin had lost sight of his ally only moments after the light had faded away. Behind him, Xaviar could hear Snowhammer pushing his way clumsily through the tunnel, far too big for the small passage. If the small group was attacked before they could escape the chute, Xaviar could only hope that they would survive; Stasya could fight effectively in such a confined space, but any wild spells cast by either Tara or Wyszemir could just as easily injure or kill one of their allies as enemies.

Stasya suddenly came to a halt in front of him, crouching down and drawing her _kris_ as she motioned for Xaviar to stop. The paladin froze where he stood, one hand dropping to Order Bar as the rest of the group came to a halt behind him. For what felt like an hour the six waited in tense silence, unable to see what was going on ahead of them.

Something slid roughly down the chute. Stasya sidestepped the object easily as she drew her _kris_ blade, but it thumped into Xaviar as the paladin crouched slightly and set his shield to receive a charge. As the thing came to a halt against the paladin's greaves, Stasya turned back on it, ready to strike out with a lethal slash.

"A body," Xaviar said, looking down at the torn and bloody corpse that the Blunderbores had discarded.

"Let me see!" Tara demanded, pushing her way past Io. "Let me see who it is!"

The sorceress half pushed and half tripped forward, stumbling to her knees before Xaviar and Io could arrest her fall. Tara shoved both of them away and scrambled forward the last few feet, until she finally reached the corpse and threw it on its back.

"Tara, what-" Snowhammer started.

"Give me some light!" the sorceress shrieked, ignoring the barbarian and trying to see through the darkness. "A torch, a spell, anything! Light!"

Snowhammer fumbled with something in his pack, but Io's spear blade lit up before the barbarian could come up with a torch or lamp. Tara pushed the body's thick mane of black hair away from its face, and simply stared for a long moment at the body of a young man in studded leather armor. Xaviar almost thought he heard the young woman breathe a sigh of relief as she saw the man's unshaven face and sightless brown eyes.

"You don't know him?" the paladin asked quietly, finally breaking the silence.

"No," Tara replied, standing. She looked around at the group, but for a moment no one spoke.

"So who are you looking for?" Wyszemir inquired, having edged his way past Snowhammer to appraise the body. Tara glared at him for a long moment, but then dropped her head in resignation.

"Phinian," the sorceress answered, her voice little more than a whisper.

"Who's Phinian?" Snowhammer asked. Tara looked up again, her eyes shining with tears.

"My my fiancé," she answered. "We he was he was the one that taught me my first spells. We were looking for Deckard Cain because he had discovered some ancient Horadric lore of some sort."

"Fiancé," Stasya said, looking past the sorceress to Snowhammer. Xaviar saw the same thing that he supposed the assassin was looking for; shock in the barbarian's eyes.

"So that's why you were so eager to come find these demons," Wyszemir said, the faintest smirk on his face. Tara turned to him with an icy glare. "I thought you were pushing yourself a little too hard for total strangers."

"I would have come anyway," the sorceress countered coldly.

"We'd better get moving then, if we want to rescue him" Snowhammer interrupted, doing an admirable job of hiding his crushed feelings beneath a renewed sense of urgency. "Time's wasting. We'd better push forward."

"Of course," Stasya said, her eyes lingering on the mismatched pair before she turned back to the tunnel ahead. Xaviar quietly breathed out a sigh of relief as the assassin passed up the opportunity to make a biting remark to either the barbarian or the sorceress, and resumed the journey to the demons' lair. The flames around Io's spear faded out once more, leaving the small group in almost total darkness again. Slowly Xaviar began to edge his way forward, careful not to trip over anything else that might have been tossed down into the chute.

Torchlight appeared ahead, dim at first but rapidly growing brighter. Stasya's pace quickened slightly, and Xaviar was able to make more progress as the illumination allowed him to see the ground at his feet. Silently the assassin stopped and crouched at the edge of the chute, waving behind her with one hand for her allies to remain still. Xaviar stopped and dropped low, but from his angle he could see nothing. There was a sudden thump from somewhere in the torchlit chamber, and two voices suddenly began argue in a hoarse, guttural language. For a long moment the assassin hovered on the edge of the portal, her hand slowly drifting down to the hilt of her _kris_ blade. With painstaking care Xaviar inched his way forward, drawing Order Bar and waiting for what seemed to be an inevitable confrontation.

The voices finally began to recede from the opening. Stasya closed her eyes for a moment and breathed a sigh of relief, then peered out into the chamber. At last the assassin turned back to her allies and motioned them forward, then disappeared out of the portal. Xaviar crept forward next, and climbed out into the large room beyond the garbage chute.

The room apparently served as some kind of temporary storage, but at first glance there appeared to be nothing of use for the small band of rescuers. Huge, brass studded clubs too large even for Snowhammer to wield were piled against one wall, while huge tuns of spice lined a second. Opposite the garbage chute and stacked to either side of a large opening cut into the sandstone, mounds of flea infested furs and hideous masks of human flesh were interspersed with maggot laden body parts. As with the garbage chute and the Scarab Beetles' lair below, the chamber's stench was nearly overpowering. Behind the paladin, the rest of the group made their way out of the chute, stopping for a moment as they regarded their loathsome surroundings.

"Let's get out of here," Tara said queasily. Xaviar nodded to her, and quickly started into the stone passageway before the foul odor could overtake him as well. Stasya brushed past the pair as they started down the wide corridor, easily blending into the shadows cast by the torches that lit the passage. After only a few dozen yards, however, the assassin stopped, and turned back to Xaviar.

"Two passages," Stasya observed, pointing to a pair of branching tunnels. One led down into the earth and left, while the other arced away up and to the right.

"We'll split up," Snowhammer suggested. "We can cover more ground that way, and meet up here when we find the caravan."

"As long as we don't get lost," Io put in.

"I'd rather we stay together," Xaviar said. "We don't know anything about this place or how many of those Blunderbores or Sand Raiders might be here. Stasya, what's your first instinct?"

"Jails are below things," the assassin surmised. "I say we head down."

"Then down it is," Xaviar decided. "Stasya, on the point. Wyszemir, be ready to call up your golem is we need it."

"And a skeleton, as well?" Wyszemir inquired, a touch of humor to his voice. Xaviar turned a scowl on the necromancer, but decided against an argument with his antagonist. 

Once again Stasya melted in and out of the shadows as the small group descended into the caves, silently stalking ahead of Xaviar with her _kris_ at the ready. The group only traveled for a hundred feet or so when the assassin once again motioned for her allies to stop. Xaviar inched up to his scout, already trying to peer past her into the dark chamber beyond. Somewhere in the distance, the paladin could hear excited voices speaking in the same guttural tongue that the Blunderbores had used at the garbage chute.

"This must be a food preparation area," the assassin said in a slightly sickened tone, bringing Xaviar's attention back to the dark room directly ahead of them. Two large, rough hewn wooden tables dominated the center of the room, still dripping blood onto a gore spattered floor. A huge assortment of meat cleavers, axes, hooks, and knives were strewn across the table surfaces of hung on the otherwise bare walls directly ahead and on their left, while the right side of the chamber held a number of shelves containing all manner of spice bottles, boxes of salt, and other seasonings. Here the smell of blood was fresher, not as repugnant as the rotting stench in the garbage chute but nearly as overpowering. Tara moved up to Xaviar's side, her eyes going wide as she saw the blood soaked room.

A miserable moan went up from the doorway leading out of the opposite side of the chamber. Tara took a quick step for the torchlit portal, but Xaviar grabbed her arm and forced her to stop. The paladin nodded to Stasya, and the assassin once again took the lead. Gliding silently across the room, Stasya inched up to the doorway, and peered through. A moment later she turned back and waved Xaviar to her side. Tara once again started for the doorway, but the assassin quickly waved her back.

"What is" Xaviar started, peeking through the doorway over Stasya's head. The paladin stopped as he finally got a good look at the Blunderbores' holding pens.

Three of the giants stood at the bars of an oversized cell, talking excitedly among themselves as they lined gold pieces along the floor just in front of the bars. A fourth Blunderbore struggled to hold four demonic, vaguely doglike creatures in check as they struggled and leapt to escape their restraints. The demonic hounds drooled from mouths full of daggerlike teeth, scrabbling against the hard stone floor with long, hooked claws as they strained to reach the cell's single occupant.

Had he been well enough to defend himself, the man might have been a challenge to the demonic hounds. But now, the black haired man was barely recognizable. Xaviar guessed that the man had been a sorcerer of some sort, as the demons had obviously and brutally broken every bone in both of the man's hands. His dark blue and green robes were caked with blood and torn to shreds. What teeth were left in the prisoner's mouth were loose and broken, and his pitiful moans were evidence that the demons had cut out his tongue. Xaviar doubted that the man would even be able to stand, but was surprised as the battered, broken prisoner turned his one good eye to his attackers and tried to defend himself.

"By the Light," the paladin whispered, appalled. Realization suddenly dawned on Xaviar as he easily made the connection of a captive sorcerer and Tara's missing betrothed.

"What's going on?" Tara asked quietly, trying to see past the heavily armored paladin. Xaviar turned back to her, but said nothing. "What? Who is it?"

Xaviar had no time to break the news to the young sorceress lightly. A terrible, agonized scream went up from the cell as the demonic hounds were set loose upon their target. Tara's eyes widened as she heard the scream, recognizing it instantly.

"Phinian!" the sorceress shrieked. Xaviar tried to grab her before she could rush headlong into the room, but the young sorceress ducked under his grasp and bolted into the jail, raising her staff and throwing off her first ice spell. The Blunderbores quickly scrambled for weapons to fight off their attacker, but the sorceress completely ignored her most immediate threats as she hurled ice blast after ice blast through the bars at the demons attacking Phinian.

Four Blunderbores turned on the young sorceress, but Snowhammer and Xaviar suddenly appeared in their way with weapons raised. One club slammed into Xaviar's shield, but the paladin ignored that attacker as he swung Order Bar low and shattered the knee of his second opponent. Snowhammer's maul came down on the crippled demon before it could try to stand again, but Xaviar was already turning back to his first opponent as that giant raised its club for a second powerful strike. The other two Blunderbores tried to charge around the two warriors, but Io hurled two javelins with devastating speed and accuracy, her weapons exploding into shafts of lightning a split second before they reached their targets. Stasya moved in quickly on the two staggered opponents, slicing through one with her kris even as she launched a devastating kick to the midsection of the second.

Xaviar launched a quick pair of strikes at the final Blunderbore, but found this one to be tougher than its kin. The giant demon parried Order Bar away on the first blow, then skipped back out of range as the paladin launched his second attack. Snowhammer charged in on the demon's side, but the Blunderbore saw the attack coming and turned with a vicious counter, swinging its club in a chest high arc and hurling the barbarian across the room. Before Snowhammer could crumple to the floor, Xaviar pressed the attack again with a brutal flurry of blows at the demon's head and chest. The Blunderbore managed to turn back most of the attack, but the paladin managed to sneak Order Bar through with his last strike, knocking the demon back enough for Io to launch an assault of her own. The Blunderbore barely had time to recover when the Amazon slammed into it from the side, impaling it on her spear until the entire blade punched through its chest and exploded out of its back in a shower of blood. A last ice blast and two volleys of teeth from Wyszemir tore into the cell at the demonic hounds, but within the space of thirty seconds the fight had come to an end.

"Phinian!" Tara exclaimed, frantically racing around the cell to the open gate. The sorceress dropped to her knees next to the dying man's side, cradling him in her arms. Snowhammer came to Xaviar's side, watching silently through the bars.

"No man should suffer like that," Io said quietly, finally having the time to measure the extent of Phinian's injuries.

"Potion," Xaviar said, quickly putting his mind back to work. Io tossed him a potion even as he hurried around the cage.

"He's dead, Xaviar," Wyszemir said from the jail entrance, his voice lacking its usual smug tone. The paladin ignored him and knelt down at Tara's side.

"Please," Tara sobbed, turning to the paladin. "Don't let him die! Please, do something!"

Xaviar leaned down over the sorcerer, but before he pulled the stopper from the bottle he could already see that Wyszemir was right. Phinian was no longer breathing, although the one eye that the demons had let him keep stared sightlessly at the ceiling. The paladin dropped his head in defeat.

"Tara, he's" the paladin tried. The shattered look in the sorceress' eyes stopped him from finishing the simple statement.

"No," Tara pleaded, trying to deny the fact. "No, he he's not going to die! Not here, not like this!"

"It's over, Tara," Wyszemir said quietly, putting a hand on her shoulder. Xaviar had never heard him enter, but the necromancer's voice held a cool, soothing tone, something he never could have expected from a death mage. 

"He can't die!" Tara screamed, rage and grief fighting for dominance on her face as she whirled on the necromancer. Wyszemir backed off a half step, almost expecting her to fly into violence, but the sorceress turned and tore the healing potion from Xaviar's hands, nearly pulling him over in the process. Frantically she poured it down the corpse's throat, trying to revive the sorcerer. "Please don't die," Tara cried, pulling Phinian's body into her arms. "Please."

"Come, Tara," Wyszemir said quietly, gently pulling the sorceress back to her feet. Tara resisted at first, but then numbly let herself be led away from her fiancé's body. Xaviar lingered another moment, then folded Phinian's broken hands across his chest and closed his intact eye.

"May the Light shine on you in your next life," the paladin intoned, laying one hand on the dead man's chest. "May it guide you to the fields of Heaven, where you will join the angels in everlasting happiness. Never again shall you know pain and suffering, only the purity of the Light."

"Xaviar."

"What?" the paladin asked, looking up from Phinian's remains. Snowhammer glanced down at the body for a moment, an odd expression on his face, but then he returned his attention to Xaviar.

"The there's no one else," the barbarian finally managed. "They killed everyone. Women and children too."

Xaviar stood, and looked back to the others. Stasya remained silent and still, but the paladin noted her eyes wandering to the gold scattered across the floor or spilling from the Blunderbores' belt pouches. Wyszemir stood quietly to one side, waiting patiently for their next move. Io tried to comfort Tara as best she could, holding the sorceress in her arms as the young woman sobbed into her chain mail. 

"What do we do now?" Snowhammer finally asked, hesitant. Tara picked up her head at the question, turning to the paladin with tears clouding her eyes. Xaviar met the young woman's gaze for a moment, his face taking a grim, determined set.

"Now," the paladin stated evenly, "we take our vengeance."

**VIII**

The passage that led upward had brought them to a wide, arching entranceway that in turn opened onto a grand feast hall. Oversized, rough hewn banquet tables ran the length of the gigantic chamber, lined by benches on either side. The chamber was brilliantly lit by torches and even a few magical globes of light floating overhead, while a huge fire slow roasted a pair of unrecognizable bodies spitted over the coals.

Crowded into the hall, easily three score Blunderbores and a dozen or so Sand Raiders ripped into the food on their tables with ravenous delight. More of the Tomb Creepers, the demonic hounds with long, hooked claws and daggerlike teeth, fought each other for the scraps that fell to the floor or scratched at the demons sitting at the tables for attention. Bowls of wine were roughly passed along the lengths of the tables to wash down the chunks of human flesh that the Blunderbores and Sand Raiders tore from the remains of the caravan. Sitting at a stone table on a raised dais at the far end of the feast hall, four Blunderbores flanked a fifth of their kind, large even by the demons' standards, dressed in a heavy chain shirt and an ornate circlet that held his greasy black hair back. The apparent chieftain and his retinue sat in stolid silence as they watched over their minions, almost appearing to disapprove of the festive atmosphere the lesser demons had created.

It was on the demonic chieftain that Tara focused, her normally cool blue eyes lit with hatred and a thirst for revenge. It was this demon that had ordered the attack on their caravan. This demon had been responsible for the deaths of the teamsters and their families. And it was this demon that had allowed, and probably even encouraged, his minions to cruelly torture Phinian before they finally decided to kill him in their own sick gaming. Silently Tara prepared herself for her assault, ignoring the mass of hideous revelers just inside the door. She was already plotting her course to the Blunderbore chieftain when she dimly heard Xaviar speaking.

"Tara and Wyszemir will hang back just enough to keep them out of harm's way," the paladin was saying. He spoke quietly, appraising the strengths and weaknesses of the enemy as he formulated his plan, but Tara only paid him the most limited attention as she looked for her own way across the feast hall. "That will keep the two of you out of melee range and allow you to cast your spells more effectively. Tara, did you hear me?"

"Hang back, cast spells," the sorceress said, though her eyes remained fixed upon the chieftain. Xaviar forcibly spun her around by her shoulder, breaking her concentration.

"Listen to me, Tara," Xaviar said sternly. "I know you're hurting. I know you want vengeance. But the way to get it is not to try to charge through four dozen demons after one guy. You hang back and make sure you put your spells to good use. Snowhammer, Io and I are the front line. Understood?"

"Understood," Tara said evenly. Xaviar locked gazes with her for another moment, searching her eyes to ascertain her sincerity. Finally, he turned to Stasya.

"You're the back up," the paladin instructed the assassin. "You watch our backs. When a demon comes in on our blind side, you put that blade of yours in his side before he clubs us."

"Got it," Stasya said with a nod. She glanced past the paladin, appraising the assembled demons one more time. "So, are we ready to go?"

"Let's do this," Snowhammer said. Xaviar nodded his agreement.

"Good," Stasya said. "But wait for my trap to go off."

"Your trap?" Snowhammer repeated, confused. Stasya took a small, flat stone from her belt pouch, and folded her hands over it for a second. Then she knelt down and slid the stone into feast hall. As it skidded to a halt, charged bolts suddenly sprang from the rock, shocking the Blunderbores closest to it.

"My trap," the assassin confirmed, gesturing to the charged bolts leaping through the tables and demons. The Blunderbores were already scrambling to their feet, throwing tables and benches aside as they fumbled for their clubs.

"Charge!" Xaviar shouted, already surging forward. The paladin hurtled into the nearest Sand Raider, ramming it aside with his crown shield with a loud gong and bringing his scepter down on the head of a shocked and disoriented Blunderbore. Snowhammer quickly flanked to the right of the paladin, his maul coming down in a powerful, skull shattering blow on a second Blunderbore. Io moved quickly to the left, hurling two lightning javelins before switching to her flaming spear and impaling a Blunderbore that turned just in time to receive the weapon through its heart. Wyszemir's golem lumbered ponderously forward as the necromancer pointed his wand at Snowhammer's first kill, and a new skeleton mage joined the fray, hurling fire bolts from its flame wreathed hands.

Tara watched the battle for only a second before she too entered the fight, hurling her first ice blast at a Sand Raider charging Snowhammer's side. Before the blast had even reached its target, Tara was turning and hurling a second ice blast at a Blunderbore closing in on Xaviar. The demon was frozen in its tracks just as the paladin smashed Order Bar into its side, smashing the giant into shards of frozen flesh. The sorceress kept on throwing spells as she began to move forward, following the first line as they pushed their way through the crowd of disorganized, surprised demons. Two skeletons moved to either side of her, holding off Sand Raiders before they could attack her, but the sorceress was focused only on the demon that now stood on the dais, shouting orders in its own demonic tongue to its minions.

"I'm coming for you," Tara growled out. Though the demon could not have heard her statement over the din of battle, an evil grin seemed to come to his mouth, revealing his metal capped teeth.

"Come child," the demon taunted, waving her on through the throngs of demons. The voice echoed in her mind as much as it rang in her ears, carrying through the feast hall. "Come face Steeltooth the Hungry!"

One skeleton shattered on Tara's right. The sorceress turned, throwing up her staff to try to ward off the club of a Blunderbore, but the demon's powerful swing nearly broke the staff and her arm as it knocked her to the ground. Tara scrambled to her feet, disoriented by the powerful blow, but by the time she could recover she found Stasya's _kris_ blade embedded in the demon's side to the hilt. The assassin turned a quick smile on the sorceress, but by the time Tara could try to thank her, Stasya had already disappeared into the whirling melee. Another skeleton replaced the one that had been destroyed, courtesy of Wyszemir, and a corpse nearby suddenly exploded, cutting off two Sand Raiders closing on her left. With renewed determination and aid from the necromancer, Tara once again began to push her way forward, her sights on Steeltooth the Hungry. The demon watched her advance a few more feet, then waved two of his personal guard forward.

The two Blunderbore champions hit Tara's skeletal guard at the first step of the dais, each one smashing a skeleton to pieces with its first hit. Tara's remaining pair of skeletons rushed forward mindlessly, hacking away with axes, but the undead constructs' shields were no match for the heavy clubs the Blunderbores wielded. Tara froze one instantly with her ice blast, stopping it in its tracks, but the other brought its club down on her left shoulder with a terrible crunching sound. The sorceress crumpled under the blow almost instantly, but she still somehow managed to scramble out of the way of the giant's killing blow. Trying to stumble to her feet and still badly stunned by the vicious assault, Tara was completely unprepared to hold off the Blunderbore raising its club over her head.

A wall of bone suddenly shot up out of the ground, separating her from the Blunderbore just as its club began its rapid descent. The enraged demon pounded away at the wall in fury, but Tara had no time to worry about that one as its companion shook off the last freezing effects of the sorceress' ice blast and rejoined the fight. Tara threw off another ice spell to stop it, but even as she loosed her spell a flurry of teeth hit the demon, slowing it even further. Despite the effects of the spells, the Blunderbore champion still fought its way forward, raising its club for one final strike on the sorceress. Tara staggered back three steps, calling upon her static field spell just before it reached her. Caught in the web of lightning, the demon howled in pain and toppled backward, finally overcome by the multitude of spells cast against it.

The bone wall crumbled on her left, once again revealing the furious Blunderbore champion. The demon swatted Tara back almost a dozen feet into the wall behind her with its first blow, blasting the wind from her lungs and knocking her senseless. The sorceress tried to gather her wits as she crawled away from the Blunderbore, but the demon easily caught up to her and kicked her onto her back. With a monstrous grin the Blunderbore raised its club for the killing blow. Tara tried to organize a spell, but she could barely even remember the words to the spells she needed.

One pilum sank into the Blunderbore's chest, then another. The giant stopped in shock, staring blankly at the two throwing spears in its chest, but Tara finally regained just enough coherence to cast. The Blunderbore yanked one pilum from its chest in rage, but it never got another chance to attack the sorceress. Tara threw her hands forward, launching another ice blast into the giant's belly, once again shattering the demon into icy shards. With the immediate danger at an end, Tara slumped back to the ground, numbly searching her belt for a healing potion.

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Snowhammer whirled and leapt, crashing through the lines of disorganized demons with a series of thunderous blows. One Blunderbore fell to his left, its skull caved in, but the barbarian was already turning on a Sand Raider charging his right. That demon fell next as Snowhammer's maul shattered its ribs, but before it even collapsed to the ground he was ducking under another Blunderbore's club and surging forward to smash his maul into a Tomb Creeper that was preparing to leap at his throat. Demons fell around the barbarian every side, but Snowhammer refused to slow, even as he felt scimitars and teeth bite into his flesh or clubs glance off of his mailed shoulders. With a final, skull splitting blow, one last Blunderbore fell out of the way, and the barbarian found himself staring up at the demonic chieftain and his last two escorts, only a half dozen or so yards away. The chieftain stood with his arms folded across his chest, resting on the haft of his mighty club as he glared down at the north man.

"You're next!" the barbarian shouted, pointing to the Blunderbore leader with his maul. Steeltooth the Hungry's face twisted into a horrifying grin. Snowhammer pushed himself forward at a full sprint, launching himself into the air as he reached the bottom step of the dais and raising his maul high above his head. The two escorts moved to intercept Snowhammer's attack, their clubs raised and ready to batter their opponent as soon as he landed

The barbarian landed with a thunderous strike, his maul freezing one Blunderbore even as it shattered the demon's skull. The second one landed a solid strike to Snowhammer's side, but the barbarian rolled with the force of the blow and brought his maul around in a powerful arc, bashing the final guard's side and breaking bones beneath the force of the silvery head. As that one crumpled to the ground, the Blunderbore leader strode across the dais, hefting its monstrous club.

"I will enjoy tearing the flesh from your bones, boy," Steeltooth the Hungry snarled, a wicked grin spread across his face. Snowhammer bellowed out a war cry and charged forward, once again swinging his maul in a devastating arc.

Steeltooth simply stepped around the weapon.

With all of his might channeled into his Bash attack, Snowhammer was thoroughly unprepared for the demon chieftain's counter. Steeltooth dropped in behind the maul and struck with his club before the barbarian could stop his momentum, slamming the weapon into the north man's ribs and knocking him to the stone wall almost a dozen feet away. Gasping for breath and hoping that none of his ribs had been broken by the devastating strike, Snowhammer staggered back to his feet and tried to take up a defensive stance. Steeltooth stalked forward menacingly, a sneer on his face as he rested his club on one shoulder, but Snowhammer could barely concern himself with the chieftain as two more of the demons charged forward to attack the stunned barbarian.

Snowhammer lunged forward at the last second, swinging his maul in a terribly ugly but tremendously effective uppercut that shattered one Blunderbore's jaw and knocked it back to the ground. The second demon closed the last of the distance, but the barbarian reversed the momentum of his swing and brought the silver maul crashing down on the giant's head with a loud, sickening crack. The first Blunderbore stumbled back to its feet, spitting out dislodged teeth, but before it could react Snowhammer caved in half of its rib cage with one mighty blow.

Steeltooth was on him again then, swinging for the barbarian's head. Snowhammer ducked under the attack and surged forward, ramming into the demon chieftain with his shoulder and driving him back to the dais. The two demons fell in a flurry of arms and legs, punching and clawing at each other as their weapons clattered away across the dais.

_________________________________________________

Xaviar had told her to act as support for the three fighters, and that was exactly what she had planned on doing. Unfortunately, things were rapidly getting out of hand.

Stasya whirled and dodged, ducking under one Tomb Creeper before it could sink its claws into her and latch onto her throat with its long teeth. The assassin backpedaled a step and hopped onto a bench, but the pack of Tomb Creepers around her pursued her with an almost insane desire to rend her limb from limb. One of the beasts hurtled forward, springing up at her from its powerful rear legs, but it slammed squarely into Stasya's shield as the assassin warded off the attack. Two more Tomb Creepers jumped at her from her side, but the woman was ready for the assault, dropping beneath the two attackers and jamming her _kris_ up into one's stomach. Blood sprayed down on her as the Tomb Creeper gutted itself with its forward motion, but Stasya had no time to relax as the kicked another of the ravenous beasts away from her and blocked yet another spring attack. One more Tomb Creeper latched onto her leg, drawing a cry of pain from the assassin, but Stasya chopped the demon's head from its body before it could drag her down into the pack of hungry monsters.

An agonized, vaguely canine wail went up behind the assassin, but by the time the assassin could hazard a glance Io was already flinging another Tomb Creeper off of her spear and turning to face a Sand Raider. The Amazon parried away one scimitar with the haft of her spear, then used her momentum to spin the weapon's blade on the four armed demon and slam forward. Charged bolts sprang from the spear blade as it punched a gaping hole in the demon, but Io was a model of cold, brutal efficiency as she turned and caught a leaping Tomb Creeper on her spear. Stasya slashed through another of the demonic hounds, then whirled back and cut into a Tomb Creeper an instant before it could try to bite through Io's chain mail.

"We'll get to Xaviar and push forward!" Io directed, launching a flurry of lethal jabs at another Sand Raider to her right. Stasya glanced quickly to the paladin, and saw the crusader fighting side by side with Wyszemir's golem and, remarkably, an ice wielding skeleton mage as they stubbornly smashed through the final ranks of Blunderbores. "We'll form up with backs to each other, keep them from flanking us!"

"I'll follow your lead!" Stasya shouted, kicking away a last Tomb Creeper. Io pressed forward, her spear erupting with charged bolts with nearly every successful blow against the Blunderbores in her path, while Stasya darted to either side of the Amazon and launched quick slashes at the giants with her poisoned blade. The aid of Xaviar's Defiance once again washed over the two women as they fought their way back to the paladin, and a flurry of teeth and another bone wall from Wyszemir cut down the last opposition in their path. Two more Blunderbores launched themselves at Stasya from behind, but the assassin had already launched a Blade Sentinel, and the whirling instrument cut into them and forced them quickly away. With Stasya and Io now in the small force, Xaviar tried to push forward for the dais, but the last of the demons converged on the group with a final, frenzied push to finish the invaders. Stasya glanced up at Snowhammer and the Blunderbore chieftain, but there was nothing she could do as the demonic leader gained the upper hand in the fight on the dais.

____________________________________________________

His maul had only landed a few feet away, but in the second that the Snowhammer had taken to roll away from Steeltooth the demon had lunged for the heavy hammer and snatched it up himself. Before the barbarian could even react to the chieftain's move, Steeltooth kicked forward with one heavy boot, nearly crushing the north man's jaw with the force of the blow. Snowhammer was nearly lifted off of his chest and thrown backwards, but the barbarian managed to tumble back to his feet. Without any weapon, the barbarian glanced around for help, but Xaviar and the others were caught in the center of the feast hall, fighting off almost two dozen Blunderbores in a desperate battle. Wyszemir was nowhere to be seen, but the necromancer's spells were still streaking in on the demons attacking the main group. Quickly Snowhammer turned back to Steeltooth, just in time to see the Blunderbore chieftain rush forward and bring the maul crashing down with only one hand. Snowhammer sprang left, barely avoiding the brutal assault, but Steeltooth turned with him and hurled the huge hammer at the north man before he could dodge again. The maul's heavy head slammed into his shoulder and bounced off of the scale mail, thumping solidly into his temple and dropping him to the ground. The barbarian tried to stumble back to his feet quickly, but just as he managed to regain his senses a huge, bare fist slammed into his face. Snowhammer's nose shattered even as the barbarian crashed back into the stone wall, seeing nothing but swirls of color in front of his eyes for a long moment. When his vision cleared, he found Steeltooth drawing back with his own brass studded club.

"A fine meal your corpse will make," the demon snarled. Steeltooth lashed out with his club in a lightning arc that Snowhammer could never dodge.

The chieftain's strike stopped a fraction of an inch from Snowhammer's face. Ice formed around the club as frost exploded around Steeltooth's body, but Snowhammer did not stop to look for the source of the ice blast as he rolled out from under the demon's blow. The ice melted almost as soon as it had formed, but Steeltooth's club slammed into nothing but stone as the barbarian dodged away and retrieved his maul. Steeltooth turned quickly, a new desperation to his features as he searched for the spellcaster that had caught him in an ice blast, but another ball of frost and ice slammed into him before he could locate his new foe. Snowhammer rushed forward as the chieftain froze once more, focusing his strength into one final Bash attack. A last burst of ice hit the demon with Snowhammer's assault, sealing the Blunderbore leader's demise. Steeltooth's body burst into shards of melting ice and blood as Snowhammer's maul smashed into his skull. With the demonic chieftain slain, Snowhammer finally turned to the edge of the stone dais, to see a badly battered Tara holding herself up on her staff. Blood caked the girl's hair on the back of her head and her left arm was still almost completely useless, but she managed to step onto the dais nonetheless. A final roar of pain went up from the center of the feast hall, signifying the demise of the Blunderbores and Sand Raiders.

"Thanks," Snowhammer said with a smile, making his way slowly to the sorceress' side.

"That's it, right?" Tara asked, looking around. Her eyes could barely focus on her surroundings. "No more?"

"We got them all," Snowhammer confirmed.

"Good," Tara said. "Because I'm going to pass out now."


	6. Resuming the Journey

****

IX

"How is it?"

"I feel like a turtle," Tara complained, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of a polished steel breastplate that Xaviar had uncovered from the Blunderbores' lair. The sorceress tried to shift the weight of the armor on her shoulders, but only seemed to worsen her discomfort. Xaviar spun her around roughly, and examined the straps on the left side of the breastplate as Tara sighed in disgust. "It's hot, uncomfortable, and heavy."

"Yeah, well, if you're going to go charging headlong through demons like I told you not to, you're going to wear it," the paladin declared, buckling one last strap and taking a step back to appraise the young sorceress. Standing next to Xaviar, Snowhammer nodded in approval at the young woman's new armor. "Not bad. Looks like it fits well, at any rate."

"It'll take a Blunderbore's club a lot better than stiff leather," the barbarian pointed out with a bit of a smile. "You'll get used to it real fast, I bet. Won't even realize you're wearing it."

"I somehow doubt that," Tara muttered, trying to adjust the padding on her shoulders to cushion her new suit of armor.

"Your movement isn't overly restricted?" Xaviar inquired, making one last inspection of the armor's buckles.

"Are you kidding?" Tara asked, turning to the paladin. "I'm wearing a metal shell! Of course it's restricted!"

"You'll be fine," Xaviar said, patting the sorceress on her armored shoulder. "Snowhammer, see if you can help her find a helm or something to protect her head."

"Right," Snowhammer said. Xaviar took one last look at the sorceress as Tara continued to adjust her armor, then smiled a little bit and walked away. Snowhammer watched the paladin head back through the now ruined feast hall, then turned back to the sorceress.

"I can just cast an ice armor spell," Tara grumbled, still unhappy with her new armor. "This is so uncomfortable."

"Trust me, you'll get used to the armor," Snowhammer said with a bit of a smile. He rapped lightly on the breastplate. "At any rate, it'll make me feel better if you're wearing this. That way you don't get killed so fast."

"Snowhammer, please," Tara said, a hint of anger in her voice. The barbarian took a single step back, surprised by her sharp retort.

"What?" Snowhammer asked, quickly going over his words. He was painfully aware of the fact that Phinian's death had placed him in an awkward position, and the last thing he wanted to do was worsen the situation for the sorceress by rushing into things with her. Up until her curt reply, he thought he had been doing at least a passable job at masking his own emotions. "Uh, if I said anything wrong…"

"Just… I'm sorry," Tara said, turning away as the barbarian tried to make amends for anything he might have said. "Look, we have to find me a helm or something, like Xaviar said."

"Tara, come on," Snowhammer said, catching the sorceress by the arm. "Look, I… I'm sorry if I said something to bother you. But I'd really rather not see you get killed before we even reach Lut Gholein. None of us want that."

"I'll be fine," Tara said, her voice cracking slightly. "Please, let's just get ready to get out of here."

"Tara, we can take an extra day," Snowhammer said, not relinquishing his grip on the sorceress' arm. For a long moment the barbarian hesitated, trying to find the appropriate words. "Look, I… I'm sorry. About Phinian. I do mean that."

"I… know," Tara said, though Snowhammer could not be certain if she really believed him. The sorceress shifted uncomfortably, displaying her uneasiness with the conversation. "I… I just want to get out of here."

"I know," Snowhammer said, putting a hand on the sorceress' shoulder. The barbarian gazed down at the young woman for a moment, but then forced himself to look up to the ceiling of the feast hall before he said something completely stupid. She would need time to grieve, and Snowhammer was more than willing to allow her that time. Finally, the north man started back through the feast hall full of slain demons, examining this one or that for anything of use that they may have owned. "Okay. Let's find you a helm or something."

____________________________________________

"That's it? Two hundred lousy gold pieces?"

"Something wrong?" Io inquired, coming up behind Stasya as the assassin hurled a heavy leather pouch at the stone wall in front of her. The Amazon had noticed Stasya sneak off through a small series of passages behind Steeltooth's feast table shortly after the battle had ended and the party had made sparing use of their healing potions, and was curious to see what the assassin had found. Stasya turned back to the warrior, disgust clearly written across her features.

"Xaviar said they steal pay chests!" she complained. The assassin grabbed the leather pouch again, and held it up for Io to inspect. "He said that they raid caravans and take all the valuables they find! And all I find is two hundred gold pieces!"

"Maybe it was a slow raiding season," Io commented, leaning on her spear as she looked over Stasya's shoulder at the assembled loot that the assassin had gathered. Past the pouch of gold, the young woman had managed to find a suit of ebon hued ring mail, a flawed but still valuable diamond, and a beautiful scimitar with a blade forged from what appeared at first glance to be pure gold and a gem studded hilt. "At any rate," the Amazon continued as her eyes wandered across the spoils of war, "you seem to have gathered quite the load of treasure. Were you planning on keeping it all to yourself?"

"No!" Stasya retorted, angered by the accusation. Io arched a skeptical eyebrow at the furious reply, which simply further angered the assassin. "Just because I kill people for a living, doesn't mean I have no code of honor! I keep my share, and I keep Xaviar's share! That was the deal!"

"Alright, I believe you," Io said, although she was not certain how genuine her tone sounded. When the Amazon had noticed Stasya sneaking off through the passages, she had become concerned that the assassin was planning on picking through the Blunderbores' treasures for anything of great value before the others could claim a share, and then "finding" the reduced hoard for the rest of the tiny band. Even now Io held a bit of suspicion that Stasya had managed to sneak something into her pack before the others could find out about it. And while Io had been as concerned about the welfare of the abducted caravan as Xaviar, the Amazon was also as interested in turning a profit from the disastrous rescue as the assassin. 

"Thank you," Stasya grumbled, her own skepticism plainly noticeable in her voice as she turned back to the tiny hoard. The assassin picked through the loot for a moment, then picked up the ring mail and turned back to the Amazon. "I'll be keeping this," Stasya informed her. "It's magical, but I need a scroll to figure out what it is."

"The same with Tara's breastplate," Io said. "And an amulet that Wyszemir found. We won't be able to identify the magic until we reach Lut Gholein."

"Speaking of which, we should probably be moving soon," Xaviar said, coming up behind the two women. "We don't know if Steeltooth had any other allies that might come to find out what happened to him."

"Remember, your share of the treasure is mine," Stasya said, looking past Io to the paladin.

"You can take it now, if you like," Xaviar said casually. "Otherwise, pack it all together so that we can get moving."

"What about provisions?" Io inquired as Xaviar turned to leave. The paladin hesitated for a moment.

"Wyszemir's… constructs have gotten them together," the paladin replied, unwilling to mention that he had finally conceded to using the Blunderbores' skeletons to carry the water and food that they would need. "We have plenty of water, but the demons seemed to prefer a diet of human flesh."

"I think I'll skip dinner tonight," Stasya commented, picking up the ring mail and crudely sizing it against her chest. "I'll be ready in five minutes, then we can go."

"Alright," Xaviar said with a nod. Stasya disappeared with the ring mail, leaving Xaviar and Io alone for a moment.

"Did you happen to find any maps to the Far Oasis?" the Amazon inquired, turning to the paladin.

"No," Xaviar replied, looking over the tiny treasure.

"Do we know how to get to the Far Oasis?" Io asked, pressing the issue.

"We'll have to head back to the caravan road, and continue east," Xaviar explained. "The Far Oasis is along the road, at any rate."

"That's a long journey," Io commented, thinking of the days that it had taken them to simply reach the Blunderbores' lair. Xaviar nodded.

"That's why we should get moving as soon as possible," the paladin explained, walking back to the feast hall.

_________________________________________________

"Are we ready?"

"Almost," Xaviar replied, meeting Wyszemir at the stone dais in front of the feast hall. The necromancer was busying himself with a few last modifications of his skeletal porters, making certain that they were capable of carrying the food and water that the tiny party had gathered from the demons' lair. Xaviar forced himself to be civil as he regarded the constructs for a moment, then turned to the necromancer. "Stasya is sizing some new armor for herself."

"I see you forced our young sorceress to take a little more of an interest in protecting herself," Wyszemir observed, ignoring the paladin's disgusted glance at the skeletons. The necromancer nodded down to Tara, sitting at the end of one of the benches as she absently tried to make her new breastplate a little more comfortable. Snowhammer had given up trying to speak to the sullen young woman after a short search of the feast hall for a helm, but the barbarian still remained close to her. The necromancer smiled faintly as he turned back to Xaviar. "No helmet, but a nice shiny breastplate. How generous of you, especially since you had no share of the treasure to give."

"I would think that her protection would be a little more important to you than how much gold you could collect," Xaviar said. Wyszemir's smile grew even wider.

"It is too easy to goad you into a fight," the necromancer said. "Am I the only person who has retained his humor through this war?"

"I find little humor in war," Xaviar stated. Wyszemir laughed.

"Come now, paladin," the death mage said. "There is a part of you that enjoys it. The chaos as the demons slam into the line, the thrill of walking the knife edge between life and death, and even the ecstasy of the kill. I've seen it before, paladin. You are a warrior, and you live for war."

"Someone must protect the innocent from these demons," Xaviar said, evading a direct denial as he gestured to the slain monsters. "I answered the call."

"I wonder why that is," Wyszemir said with a mock tone of thoughtfulness. Xaviar scowled at the necromancer for a long moment, then looked down to Tara and Snowhammer again.

"How has she been?" the paladin asked, neatly changing the topic of conversation. Wyszemir smiled at the evasion, but allowed the paladin his out.

"She still mourns the death of her betrothed," the necromancer said, growing serious. "It will be some time before she recovers completely from his death."

"I would expect as much," Xaviar said, considering the answer.

"And Snowhammer," Wyszemir continued, his mood lightening as he considered the barbarian, "has been about as clumsy with his own interest in her as possible. He thinks he's being subtle, but apparently the northern clans know even less about tact than they do about etiquette."

"They'll work their way around it," Xaviar said, trying to put some certainty in his voice. Wyszemir, however, could hear the concern beneath the paladin's confidence. Yet another stress on an already tenuous alliance, at least in the paladin's eyes, could destroy the faint cohesiveness that had been struggling to develop over the last week. Wyszemir noted that the paladin had already put himself to great compromise in keeping their band together, something that the necromancer had observed with great curiosity. Many paladins would not have allowed a death mage to even travel with them, much less make blatant use of skeletons and bone magic. It was something that truly interested the necromancer about the paladin. The necromancer's musings were cut short, however, as Stasya and Io emerged from the tunnels behind the dais, carrying the tiny treasure hoard in a large sack.

"Let's go," the paladin said, almost sounding relieved to start another journey into the desert. Xaviar quickly started off the dais, heading for the tunnel complex's entrance.

"He's in a hurry," Stasya commented as she drew even with the necromancer.

"I made him think," Wyszemir said with a smirk.

****

X

"Smoke."

Xaviar peered into the distance, shielding his eyes with his gauntleted hand as he followed Snowhammer's line of sight to the south. Two days of travel through the desert had brought them within sight of the road ahead, but it had been accompanied by a new battle against the demons of the desert. Although the caravan route was likely still several miles in the distance, the prospect of finding another raiding party waiting for them on the trade road was not something the paladin particularly relished.

"Is that our caravan, still burning?" Tara asked, although she already knew the answer.

"Looks like Steeltooth and his Blunderbores weren't the only raiders out here," Io said quietly, watching the smoke drift up from the distant source. "That's probably the caravan road."

"Demons don't attack as often while the sun is up," Wyszemir observed. "I wonder what drew them out at the hottest time of day."

"They're getting bolder," Xaviar noted, finally turning away from the smoke. He considered the distance to the caravan, but then shook his head. "We'll never be able to get there in time to help them."

"And we don't have the provisions to go chasing after another lost caravan," Wyszemir put in, trying to head off another rescue operation before the idea began to circulate. "Unless they are very close, we'll never be able to track them with our current supplies."

"We can worry about that once we reach the caravan," Io interrupted. The more they argued, the less time they would have to aid any survivors that were indeed in a position to be saved. "Right now, we need to get to the road. The caravan is there, and that is the route we have to take besides. Let's get there first."

"That suits me fine," Wyszemir said. The necromancer traded cold glances with Xaviar for a moment, then turned to continue the trek south.

An explosion of fire suddenly went up behind him, throwing the death mage to the ground. Xaviar turned quickly, searching for an enemy, and managed to put his crown shield up in time to deflect a glass vial arcing down at him. The shield stayed perfectly in line, but the bottle exploded into flames on the shield's surface, scorching the paladin's arms and face. All around, more and more of the explosives were landing among the party, scattering the six and destroying the skeletons.

"Back off and stay together!" the paladin shouted, trying to keep his allies together. Snowhammer and Tara were rapidly being cut off from the rest of the group, but Io quickly moved to the paladin's side as she readied a javelin to throw. Wyszemir chanted a few simple, guttural words, and ghostly armor sprang up around him as he moved to Xaviar's side. Stasya smacked another explosive flask away with her buckler, but the ensuing explosion engulfed her arm, badly burning her. "Tara! Snowhammer! Over here!"

Snowhammer nodded and took a step back to rejoin the group, but the dunes were suddenly alive with motion. At least thirty feline warriors, carrying spears and sabers and hurling still more of the explosive flasks, sprang from the sand and charged in on the group, quickly cutting Snowhammer and Tara off from the others. Explosions were still flaring up from the young pair, but Xaviar had all he could manage trying to hold off the sudden press of feline attackers charging in on him. Two javelins flew past his head, transmuting to lightning as they homed in unerringly on their targets, but Io was quickly forced to abandon her ranged weapons as the felines poured in on her. Wyszemir reached into his robes and pulled out a bottle of vibrant green liquid, hurling it into the mass of cat warriors an instant before a pair of javelins and another exploding potion hit his bone shield. Xaviar had no time to watch the effects of the strangling gas potion, however, as the felines closed on him.

The paladin met them head on, calling upon his Zeal as he surged forward to meet the charge. Order Bar slammed into one feline's head with a vicious crack, but before the cat could fall back, the scepter slammed into its chest above its heart, shattering ribs and impaling the warrior on its own broken bones. That one fell to the side with a final gasp, but Xaviar was already hammering through the next cat warrior with a pair of vicious strikes that quickly caved in the feline's rib cage. A saber ripped a bright line of blood along the paladin's arm, but the wound seemed only to incense the paladin, whirling and lashing out with Order Bar at the offending warrior's head. The grand scepter's heavy head exploded into a flames as it made contact, killing the cat warrior instantly. In the space of a second, three of the attackers were already dead on the ground before the paladin.

Six more felines were eager to take their places.

Bone walls suddenly shot up in front of the paladin, cutting off the feline warriors before they could launch a new assault. More of the explosive flasks shattered against the abrupt barrier, but only a few small tongues of flame found their way through the bone. Xaviar turned quickly, looking to Wyszemir, but the necromancer was already pointing towards Snowhammer and Tara.

"You can break through the Spear Cats better than I," Wyszemir explained as the paladin moved to his side. "My skeleton mages will give you support. No arguments!"

Xaviar nodded, knowing that even a second spared to argue tactics could cost his young allies their lives, and turned to the battle ahead. Snowhammer was down on one knee, a javelin impaling his right calf, but the barbarian stubbornly fought on with huge, devastating swings of his maul. With her back half to him, Tara continued to throw off ice spells and static fields, her new breastplate providing excellent defense against both the Spear Cats' blades and explosives. Despite their valiant efforts, however, the two were rapidly being crushed under the weight of the feline warriors. Without another thought Xaviar pushed himself forward, throwing his shield up as he charged into the mass of Spear Cats.

The paladin slammed into their lines with a thunderous blow, slamming Order Bar down on one Spear Cat's head and smacking a second one away with a powerful backhand from his crown shield. A bolt of lightning shot past and jolted a third of the demons as Wyszemir's skeleton mage joined the fight, and the necromancer's clay golem lumbered forward as it flailed at three more of the Spear Cats. Two more of the felines came at the paladin, turning away from Snowhammer, but Xaviar met them with a furious flurry of blows that quickly shattered bone and scorched fur and flesh. Behind him, Wyszemir had turned his attention from the Spear Cats in front of them and was quickly erecting a veritable fortress of bone, casting more and more walls behind them in an attempt to keep the felines away. Io turned and launched a javelin swiftly, impaling a Spear Cat just to Xaviar's right as Order Bar thundered home into another of the felines, but the instant of aid was all she could manage as the Spear Cats continued to rush around or over the bone walls in their frenzied assault. With one last powerful swing, Xaviar found his way to his two young allies, knocking a saber away before a Spear Cat could decapitate Snowhammer.

"I told you two to stay with the group!" Xaviar shouted, knocking away another javelin as Tara launched a volley of ice blasts at the oncoming Spear Cats.

"Nag, nag!" Snowhammer countered with a touch of humor, lashing out with his maul. "Nice of you to come over and join us, at any rate!"

"I need _mana_!" Tara shouted, dropping back and almost stumbling into the paladin. Xaviar grabbed her by the arm and pulled her aside before a Spear Cat could impale her on its spear, wincing as the wide blade of the weapon screeched across his shield. Tara spun quickly around him, throwing off one more ice blast, but then the sorceress was forced back to her staff as she exhausted her magical reserves.

"Can you walk?" Xaviar demanded, looking back over his shoulder to Snowhammer.

"Get this splinter out of my leg and I'll be able to!" the barbarian shouted back. Xaviar parried one last attacker, then turned back to the north man and yanked the javelin out of his leg. Snowhammer screamed in pain, but the barbarian channeled the agony into a devastating blow that knocked two Spear Cats a dozen feet to the side. Xaviar tossed the barbarian a healing potion as he swiftly turned back to his attacker, but the paladin was not quite fast enough to keep a spear from finding an opening in his defenses. Xaviar gasped in pain as a Spear Cat impaled him on its weapon, driving the spear blade through his hip and up into his stomach.

"Xaviar!" Tara screamed, whirling as she heard the paladin cry out. Xaviar stubbornly swung out one last time, but his strike was weak and could not push the Spear Cat away. The feline surged forward, growling with delight as it tried to jam its weapon up underneath the paladin's rib cage to his heart.

The feline was suddenly frozen as Tara found the _mana_ to cast another spell, giving Snowhammer enough time to rush forward and slam his maul down on the Spear Cat's head. Xaviar dropped to the ground as Tara and Snowhammer both moved to his defense, calling upon his own Defiance to aid the pair while he searched for a healing potion. One had smashed beneath him when he fell to the ground, but Xaviar managed to come up with another. Tara had been forced back into hand to hand combat, but Xaviar would be back in the fight in only moments as he pulled the stopper from the flask and drank the coppery, bright red liquid in a single gulp. As soon as he drank the elixir he could feel his damaged flesh mending, but before he had even healed enough to stand the last Spear Cat fell to Wyszemir's ponderous clay golem.

"Xaviar!" Tara shouted, practically throwing herself on top of the paladin in her rush to ascertain his injuries. "Xaviar, please! Speak to me!"

"I appreciate your concern, but you just kneed me in the mouth," Xaviar said with a faint smirk as he looked up at the frightened sorceress. Relief flooded over the Tara's features as he spoke.

"Thank the Light!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him in a hug. Still feeling some of the effects of his wound, Xaviar could not stifle a gasp of pain. "Oops," Tara said, backing off and looking a bit embarrassed. "Uh, sorry. Sorry. Just glad to see you're alright."

"It'll take more than a little scratch like that to put Xaviar down," Snowhammer said, moving to the paladin's side as Tara stood up again. Although the barbarian's voice was full of amusement, the paladin almost thought that he saw a trace of jealousy in the north man's eyes as he leaned down and extended his hand. "Come on, crusader. Can't lie around on the ground all day."

"Indeed," Wyszemir said as he and the others rejoined the three. "That little tiff may have attracted some attention, if our raider friends to the south are heading this way with their ill gotten gains."

"Is everyone alright here?" Io inquired, her gaze directed at Xaviar. The paladin dusted the sand from his surcoat and examined the bloody tear near the bottom.

"Nothing a healing potion couldn't fix," the paladin answered. Io nodded, then turned her attention to the south. Just behind her, Stasya, satisfied that no one had been too badly injured, was already casting sideways glances at the bodies of the Spear Cats in a subtle investigation for valuables. "We can rest here for a few minutes and give ourselves any time to heal that we might need, but I'll be ready to move soon enough. Hopefully, we'll reach the road by the end of the day."

"If we even want to go that far," Wyszemir observed. "If there are more raiders waiting on the road, we may be better off taking our chances out here."

"Too much of a risk getting lost," Xaviar decided. Io nodded in reluctant agreement at the assessment of the situation. "We'll have to hope that there are no more raiders waiting for us, or that we notice them before they can ambush us."

"That's not our only problem," Stasya said suddenly, back where Wyszemir had erected the bone walls. As the group turned back to face her, the assassin held up a charred waterskin. The skeletons that had been carrying their water were now masses of shattered bone on the ground, while the ground beneath the remains was darkened by the lost water.

"And now," the paladin continued flatly, taking the new development into consideration, "we have no more supplies."


	7. The Far Oasis

****

XI

"I hate this god forsaken desert."

Io could only nod in mute agreement with Tara's simple statement. To the west, the sun was setting behind the distant Tamoe Highlands, a drop of gold in the crimson sky, casting long shadows across the ruined caravan that littered the trade route to Lut Gholein.

The caravan had been even larger than the one that had brought the small party together, nearly two dozen wagons long and, judging by the bodies strewn across the road, they had carried nearly a hundred people. They had been attacked while they were traveling; the wagons were still in a straight column, and the horse teams had been slaughtered in their harnesses. The drivers had also been primary targets, pinned to their seats by javelins or roasted by fire and lightning. Most of the others, it seemed, had died fighting. The caravan's men had been mauled by blades and by claws, but the bodies of Sand Raiders, Blunderbores, and Spear Cats were interspersed with the human corpses. The remains of Scarab Beetles, their thick, glistening carapaces broken by the caravan's weapons or the hooves of the horses, were scattered across the road just ahead of the first wagon. Wagons and bodies alike still smoldered, casting a faint pall of charnel smoke over the site.

"Do you think there's anything at all worth salvaging here?" Stasya asked quietly, taking a step into the battlefield.

"We'd better hope there's some water," Snowhammer said, starting through the ruined wagons as well. Io turned to Wyszemir as the necromancer turned a thoughtful eye on one of the few intact wagons.

"It will be getting dark very soon," the Amazon said. Wyszemir looked up, realizing that she was addressing him. "Do you think the demons will come back before dawn?"

"Would you prefer to stay here and run that risk?" the death mage inquired. He looked over to Xaviar for a moment, then turned back to Io. "I have a solution to our transportation problem, but it will likely go against the wishes of our… leader, if you would call him that."

"Io," Snowhammer called out as the Amazon opened her mouth to speak. Io looked past Wyszemir to the barbarian, standing at the rear of the nearest wagon. "You… might want to take a look at this."

Snowhammer turned and walked back behind the wagon. Io hesitated for a moment, casting a glance at the necromancer, but Wyszemir simply shrugged his shoulders in confusion at the north man's actions. Finally, the Amazon started hesitantly around the wagon.

Snowhammer and Stasya both stood in the middle of a mound of Sand Raider and Spear Cat bodies, looking down at a single female corpse on the ground. The body's dark brown hair spilled out from beneath a full helm set with a badly chipped diamond, obscuring most of her face. A beautiful bow, still tightly gripped in the woman's hands, had been broken where she had likely used it to ward off the demons' final attacks. Her scale mail, once a gleaming silver, was now spattered with blood, from both the archer and the demons. Io knelt next to the victim, and brushed her hair back from her young, attractive face.

"We thought she was an Amazon," Stasya said, uncertain how to proceed. "We thought you might… well, want to see for yourself."

"Dannae," Io said quietly. "Her name was Dannae."

"You know her?" Wyszemir asked, joining the group. Behind him, Xaviar and Tara also joined their allies. Io looked up, and nodded sadly.

"She was one of my companions when we came north from our homeland," the Amazon explained quietly. "Dannae helped to defeat Andariel in the catacombs beneath the Rogue Monastery. I was to meet up with her and the rest…"

Io trailed off, standing and scanning the battlefield once more. Slowly she started walking towards the head of the wagon train, heading for an exceedingly thick group of demonic corpses. As she approached, she could see human bodies among the demons; four people had made an ill fated last stand at the third wagon. The others followed slowly behind her as the Amazon stopped only a few yards away from the bodies.

One was an archer, much like Dannae. She was older, however, her hair was a sandy brown, and she wore chain mail instead of scale. Her bow was still intact, but as Io examined the weapon, she found two empty sockets, one at either end of the bow, that should have been filled by amethysts.

"Vanya," the Amazon said quietly. She looked to the most obvious one; a north man with a scalp lock of black hair and a huge axe still grasped in one hand was pinned to the wagon's side by over a dozen javelins. "Rannver Iceaxe." A third body, face down in sand made muddy by the congealing blood, was dressed as a paladin, though he was far too young to have been an experienced warrior. "Petronus."

"And Salvian," Xaviar said quietly, kneeling next to the final body. He too had been a paladin, wielding a heavy broad sword of red steel and similarly crimson chain mail. Xaviar shook his head as he gently turned Salvian's body onto its back. "Andariel's slayer."

"We were to meet up again in Lut Gholein," Io said quietly. "We had already lost five of our number in the battle against Andariel and the corrupted rogues. While the others helped to clean out the last of the rogues' undead sisters, I was to travel east, to try to find the trail of the Dark Wanderer, the one they claim brought Andariel to the monastery with his evil powers. The Horadrim sorcerer, Deckard Cain, tells us that this Wanderer could be the new host for Diablo himself. If he is, we need to find him before he can reestablish his power. But now…"

Io trailed off, shaking her head in sadness.

"The powerful warriors that slew Andariel, felled by a simple clan of demonic raiders," Wyszemir said, only a step away from sounding amused. Io looked up, the first spark of anger showing in her eyes, but the Amazon kept her emotions in check. This was not the time for another confrontation. "How the mighty have fallen."

"Do you think the demons were looking for this group specifically?" Stasya asked, appraising the battlefield once more. "They took far fewer casualties against us, but gave up far more easily."

"It's… a possibility," Xaviar replied. Io nodded in agreement; if the Dark Wanderer was indeed Diablo, he would likely have taken some kind of precautions against anyone that defeated the demon that had occupied the monastery. "But how could they have known?"

"Because these poor souls," Wyszemir started, gesturing to the fallen warriors, "were heroes. A single Dark Rogue or Carver could easily have made it to the desert to warn Steeltooth and other demonic chieftains about Andariel's defeat. Armed with that knowledge, they simply set out to ambush every caravan traveling toward Lut Gholein until they found these five, to take their vengeance."

"And with the monastery passage open, nobody considered the fact that there might be dangers beyond the Highland," Io added. "The demons could slaughter anyone they liked, because no one was ready for them to attack in such force."

"A grave error," Wyszemir said. "One we have all fallen prey to these last few weeks."

"So, what do we do now?" Tara asked, glancing nervously at the darkening desert. "Are they going to come back?"

"Search the wagons for water and food," Xaviar said. "Stasya, you keep watch on the desert, in case the raiders decide to return. Wyszemir… we'll need your golem."

"Of course," the necromancer said with a nod. The necromancer turned and quickly summoned the clay construct into being while the rest of the group fanned out through the wagons.

Although there was no immediate threat of attack, Io noticed that the small band still moved with marked urgency through the wagons, collecting what little they could find of value in the ruined caravan. The Amazon made a quick search through the last few wagons in the train, but nothing could be salvaged from their charred husks. The weapons that the caravan guards had wielded were broken and charred, their armor shredded and cracked, and their supplies had been reduced to ash. A little farther ahead, in less damaged wagons, Snowhammer and Xaviar hurried to unload huge tuns of water, while Tara hastily collected waterskins to fill from the immobile jars. Stasya kept a nervous watch from a position on top of a wagon in the center of the group, scanning the desert in every direction as the last of the sun's rays disappeared in the west. Wyszemir's clay golem stood idly by, waiting to be loaded down with the provisions that the band could gather together.

"We need to talk," Wyszemir said, joining the Amazon as she started up through the caravan.

"What is it?" Io asked, turning to the necromancer. The Amazon noted easily that the death mage had decided to meet with her out of earshot of the others.

"We can transport all the food and water we can salvage here in the lead wagon," Wyszemir explained. "That wagon is still functional and has an intact harness."

"Can your golem pull all that weight?" Io inquired, continuing her search as she moved forward through the caravan. Wyszemir turned a condescending smirk on the warrior.

"The horses that are still hitched to the wagon would do a much better job of it," the necromancer observed. Io stopped, and turned back to her gaunt companion.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you were doing this simply to push Xaviar," the Amazon stated.

"But you do know better," Wyszemir countered. Io remained silent, clearly conceding that point to the necromancer. "Two skeletal horses and a skeletal teamster will be able to carry us constantly, day and night, without tiring. That will give us time to rest and recuperate from the rigors of this desert."

"Xaviar will never go for it," Io pointed out. "The others, maybe, but not him. He'd rather march himself to death."

"That may be, if I were to make the proposition," Wyszemir said. He smiled slightly. "But, of course, if someone else were to suggest such a thing, someone whose tactical knowledge he trusted…"

"And that would be me," Io concluded, leaning on her spear slightly as she leveled an even gaze on the necromancer. Wyszemir nodded as his smile widened faintly.

"Certainly you understand the tactical uses of horses and drivers who do not tire," the pale man assumed.

"I cannot argue with their usefulness," Io admitted. "But they are skeletons!"

"A bit, bony, perhaps, but maybe if we fed them…" Wyszemir mused, stroking his smooth chin thoughtfully.

"This is no time to be cracking jokes!" Io snapped. The Amazon quickly reined in her anger, then continued. "Alright," she relented. "I'll try to convince Xaviar to use the skeletons, at least until we get to the Far Oasis. But I can't promise you anything."

"He'll see reason," Wyszemir decided. "Because if he doesn't, we're all going to die out here."

Io scowled at the necromancer for a long moment, but then turned to consider Xaviar. The paladin had filled his helm with water and was pouring the liquid over his head, cooling himself and rinsing away the heavy dust and grime that had settled upon all of the party. Even though she would do the talking for Wyszemir, the Amazon had the feeling that he would be difficult, at best, to convince.

_____________________________________________

"Xaviar, we need to talk."

As Xaviar turned back to her, the Amazon could tell that he already suspected her to be speaking for Wyszemir. The paladin folded his arms across his chest, considering the woman warrior for a moment. Just behind him, Snowhammer and Wyszemir's golem continued to move supplies off of the wagons, preparing for the journey into the desert, while Tara searched the next wagon in line for anything useful.

"What do we need to talk about?" he finally asked, casting a sidelong glance at Wyszemir. The necromancer was idly moving through the wagons, ostensibly searching for supplies. Io hesitated for a moment.

"It might be possible to use a wagon to carry all the supplies we need," the Amazon said, choosing her words carefully.

"The golem can tow a wagon?" Xaviar inquired, his voice measured and even. Io stalled for a long moment.

"The two horses… can be risen as skeletons," the Amazon finally explained.

"Out of the question," the paladin said without a moment's hesitation.

"We need those horses, alive or otherwise," Io said, growing slightly more forceful. She had fully expected such an answer from the paladin, but this time she was determined to make him see reason. Although she truly respected Xaviar's combat prowess and strategic mind, the typical paladin's rigid code of conduct prevented him from looking at the truth of the situation. Any good warrior knew that the rules had to occasionally be bent, or even broken, to adapt to a new situation. 

"We do not need skeletons," Xaviar countered. Infuriated by the all too predictable answer, Io grabbed the paladin by his surcoat and dragged him a few yards away from the rest of the group.

"You uncompromising bastard!" the Amazon snapped once the pair were out of earshot. The Amazon had given up trying to reason with Xaviar, and now simply decided to force the decision upon him. "Don't you think of anything other than your holier-than-thou crusader's attitude? You have five other people depending on you to lead them out of this God forsaken desert! You relented and let him raise the Blunderbores to carry provisions two days ago. Now stop being so God damn obstinate! The Far Oasis is still a long way off!"

"Yes, but now that we're on the road, we can find it easily!" Xaviar shot back. "We have no more need of skeletons! The golem can carry what we need! And maybe it can even pull the wagon!"

"And what if another raiding party comes along?" Io countered. "Do we lose all of our supplies again because the golem goes wading through a line of Spear Cats without regard for our water? Do you want us to survive the battle, only to die of thirst a day later? Use your head, Xaviar! Just relax that stupid code of ethics for a few days!"

"I'm sure someone said that to the High Council in Kurast," Xaviar growled out, his voice low and even. "Now they are our enemy."

"Is that what this is about?" Io asked, surprised. Xaviar said nothing. "You're worried that you're going to end up like them? By the Light, Xaviar, you're the last person that would ever end up as a corrupted puppet, just because you consented to a couple of skeletal horses!"

"I'm sure someone said something like that to the High Council of Kurast, as well," Xaviar repeated. Io nearly flew into a rage, but managed to regain control of her emotions before she could launch into a tirade. The Amazon took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, and finally locked cold gazes with the paladin.

"If we don't use the skeletal horses, you certainly won't have to worry about being corrupted," Io stated coldly. "Because we will likely be dead by that time. You may be willing to throw your own life away, and maybe you don't care about Wyszemir or Stasya, but what about Tara and Snowhammer? It's time to ask yourself, paladin, how much evil you can accept in order to keep those two innocents alive. Because if we walk, we die."

Io continued to glare at the paladin, but Xaviar said nothing, nor did his stony mask fade in the least. Finally, the Amazon turned and stormed away from him, heading back to the wagons. She had hoped that the paladin would see reason, but apparently, his own religious code was too binding to make allowances, even when death was the alternative. Io herself had no compunctions about dying in battle, but expiring in the middle of a desert while she had the means to survive the journey was not acceptable under even the most extreme circumstances. If Xaviar was not willing to make a sacrifice in order to save the lives of the rest of the party, it was time for a change in leadership.

"Wyszemir!" the Amazon shouted, a sharp edge to her voice. The necromancer looked up at the seething Amazon, surprised by her furious tone. "Raise the horses, and two of the demons for drivers! Now!"

"As you wish," the necromancer said, still slightly taken aback by the Amazon's attitude. Io braced herself, waiting for what seemed like an explosive confrontation with Xaviar, but even as Wyszemir raised two skeleton mages from the bodies of a pair of Sand Raiders, the paladin had still not approached her. Snowhammer and Tara watched, sensing the oncoming storm as well, but as Wyszemir calmly walked to the lead wagon and summoned the horses' skeletons back to life, but still the paladin said nothing. The horses filled back into their harnesses.

"Snowhammer! Load the supplies into that wagon with the golem's help! Tara, find something useful to do!" Io ordered, taking strict control of the group. "Stasya, get down from there! We move as soon as everything is loaded onto the wagon!"

"But, Io, what about-" Tara started, glancing off to Xaviar.

"He can do what he wants," Io interrupted harshly. Tara shrank back from the Amazon's enraged countenance, but Io could also see the first seeds of hate in the young sorceress' eyes, but the Amazon was more determined to get her entire party out of the desert alive than worry about her popularity. "But if he wants to make the Far Oasis alive, he'll get on the damn wagon."

Tara glared at the Amazon for another moment, then turned and stormed away. The young sorceress started in Xaviar's direction, then stopped, trying to decide if she should join the stony paladin or continue to help Snowhammer load the wagon. Io turned to Snowhammer, expecting to see him hefting a tun of water onto the lead wagon, but the barbarian was peering off into the dim light at the sorceress. Stasya had also hesitated, waiting to see what would become of the rapidly worsening situation.

"Get working!" Io screamed, her wrath directed at the two loaders. Snowhammer and Stasya practically flew back into their work, willing to do anything to keep the warrior from noticing them. Tara, adrift in the empty space between the caravan and Xaviar, had now lost much of her conviction, taking a step to Xaviar first, then turning and looking back to the wagon. Wyszemir strolled up alongside the Amazon after another moment.

"You make an excellent captain," the necromancer said, smirking. Io whirled on him, swinging her spear around and barely brushing the man's throat with the tip of the blade.

"Make yourself useful," the Amazon hissed, as furious with the necromancer's smug attitude as with the paladin's obstinate attitude. Wyszemir seemed remarkably unfazed by the weapon's proximity.

"Definitely a war captain," the necromancer concluded, finally turning and strolling casually towards the wagons. "The change in command is welcome, indeed."

****

XII

"So this is the Far Oasis."

"I thought there would be a lot of water here," Snowhammer remarked as he jumped down past Wyszemir off of the wagon. After almost three full days of tense silence, the barbarian was more than happy to escape the small confines. While the skeletal horses and the undead teamsters had driven slowly but surely, all day and all night, the six human travelers still could not have reached the way station sooner. Xaviar had started out walking, showing a superhuman determination to keep pace with the creaking wagon, but after a night of maintaining his separate journey a combination of Tara's pleading and Io's stern orders had cajoled the exhausted paladin into the wagon. Io, since taking charge of the group from Xaviar, was even more aloof and stern, speaking only when an order needed to be issued. Wyszemir, as was usual for him, said little, content instead to drive the skeletal horses when he was not sleeping. Tara, torn between grief over her lost Phinian and mirroring Xaviar's disgust with the undead horses and sentries, remained silent for most of the journey, simply staring out of the open back of the wagon. Only Stasya remained largely indifferent to the pall that had been cast over the group, but she was more content to ride outside the wagon, sitting on top of the frail canvas and wood ceiling where the barbarian's weight would bring the entire frame crashing down. "I had expected a lake of some sort, or at least a pond."

"This is a pond, as far as this terrain is concerned," Wyszemir commented, dropping to the sand and taking a few steps to the muddy fringes of the oasis itself. The tiny pool of crystal clear water lay sparkling in the late afternoon sun, nestled in the center of a stand of enormous palm trees. Beneath the wide fronds of the trees, an explosion of undergrowth took advantage of the plentiful water and partial shelter from the harsh sun. Thick grasses grew almost as tall as Snowhammer's head, while shrubs and vines of fragrant flowers claimed patches of sand for their own or wound around the palms to their very tops. After so much desolation in the arid Dry Hills, the Far Oasis was a welcome change of scenery for the entire group. Even Wyszemir seemed to enjoy the sight and smell of the tiny shard of paradise in the middle of the parched wasteland. As the others climbed down out of the wagon to admire the beautiful scenery, Wyszemir walked over to the pool, and gazed down into the water.

"What a beautiful place," Tara said, her mood lightening for the first time since Snowhammer had met her after their caravan had been destroyed. The sorceress practically floated to the pool, admiring the scenery.

"We'll refill what we can of the water tuns, and then get moving," Io directed, completely ignoring the scenery as she continued to think tactically. "The sooner we reach Lut Gholein, the better."

"I think some time off from this journey might be useful," Wyszemir said, standing up from the pool and wiping a trace of sandy mud from his knees. "We have pushed ourselves all too hard for the last week and more. It will do us all some good to rest here for one day."

"These hills are still infested with demons," Io pointed out. "They'll be certain to check an oasis like this for signs of lost travelers. And if they have seen our wagon, it is only a matter of time before they catch up with us."

"No one has been here for some time," Snowhammer said, examining the ground and the pool. "The water is so clear that it could not have been disturbed for weeks or more. The ground is swept clear of any tracks, from caravans, humans, or demons."

"It's too beautiful to just leave now," Tara said, still entranced by the oasis. Io sighed in disgust, but Snowhammer could tell that even she wanted to take the time to appreciate the oasis' beauty and serenity. Only Xaviar seemed not to care about the oasis; his eyes remained fixed on the near invisible road behind them, on constant vigil for any demons that might have attempted to follow the tiny band of travelers. For a long moment the Amazon deliberated in silence. Finally, she looked back to the wagon, then to the sinking sun.

"We'll stay the night here," Io finally agreed, reluctant. "But we leave at first light. It's too dangerous to stay in one place for too long. Wyszemir's skeletons will remain intact and on guard."

"Indeed," Wyszemir agreed, throwing a glance of his own to the sullen paladin. Xaviar had finally turned back to the group, slowly walking toward the small pool. "Much as this tiny oasis is beautiful, there may be a reason why no one has been here for so long."

"Maybe nobody got this far yet," Stasya suggested, looking around as she made her way toward the pond. She stopped next to Snowhammer, searching for signs of life in the dunes, but nothing presented itself in the vast reaches of sand and stone beyond the tiny watering hole. "Maybe the caravans coming from Lut Gholein have been attacked as well, closer to the Rocky Wastes."

"Do you think anyone at all has gotten through to Lut Gholein?" Tara asked, beginning to focus less on the oasis and more on the surrounding desert.

"There simply haven't been many caravans going through," Snowhammer said, trying to restore the sorceress' good cheer. Stasya stifled a derisive chuckle next to him, but the barbarian ignored her and concerned himself with Tara's fragile spirit. "I mean, the pass only opened up again not even a month ago. We may be the first simply because there weren't any other caravans coming through."

"Maybe," Io said, stopping short of agreeing with the barbarian.

"Maybe some angels'll show up here soon, too," Stasya suggested sardonically.

"Shut up, Stasya," Snowhammer said. Stasya forced back another chuckle at the barbarian's bravado.

"Odd, how the demons would leave this place untouched," Wyszemir commented, lost in thought. Snowhammer turned back to him.

"They attack people, not ponds," the barbarian pointed out. Wyszemir gave the young north man a faint, almost condescending smile.

"Yes, but they also destroy anything of beauty," the necromancer observed. Except this way station in the desert, apparently."

"So there was no one here to attack," Snowhammer decided, glancing around. Io did her best not to show it, but the Amazon was suddenly on guard, watching the sands around her for signs of an attack. Xaviar also looked up from the pool, renewed concern showing through in his eyes. "What?" the barbarian asked. "You don't actually think they'd use this place as some kind of… bait, do you?"

An odd chittering somewhere very close answered the north man's question.

"What was that?" Tara asked, keeping her voice as low as possible. Xaviar's hand dropped down to his scepter, ready to draw the weapon in the event of an assault. Io brought her spear to the ready, but still could find no sign of an enemy. Stasya had drawn her _kris_ blade, but the assassin's attention was focused on the sand at her feet.

"I think my point is proven," Wyszemir said, still smirking despite the situation.

"You think you're so God damn smart," Snowhammer snarled, turning on the necromancer. Angrily the north man stormed forward, frustrated by Wyszemir's patronizing and all too often correct statements. "How about I take this maul and shove it up your-"

Snowhammer's threat ended in a yelp of surprise and pain. The barbarian was suddenly dragged to the ground as something clamped around his ankle; if not for the chain boots that he wore, he might have lost his foot in that instant. 

The barbarian rolled onto his back and fumbled with his maul, frantically trying to kick away the thing that had latched onto his leg. It was at least as long as he was tall, its maw composed of the two monstrous, swordlike mandibles that had seized his ankle. The thing had seemingly popped up out of the ground itself, its orange-yellow skin glistening with slime in the last rays of the sun. Stasya drew her _kris_ as the creature surfaced, but before she could try to attack the monster, another of the hidden creatures burst from the sand and grappled her by the waist, dragging her to the ground with a scream of pain. Finally freeing his huge weapon, Snowhammer brought the maul crashing around in a devastating arc that crushed the pincers holding his ankle and shattering the disgusting creature's head, but two more of the demonic sand dwellers were already grabbing hold of him by the waist and neck. Stasya whirled desperately on her own attacker, but another of the creatures seized her sword arm in its mandibles and dragged her to the sand.

"Sand Maggots," Wyszemir observed, not taking a step from where he stood. Io and Xaviar started forward to help their downed allies, but more of the creatures leapt out of the sand to attack them, as well. "Tara!" the necromancer shouted sternly. The sorceress was about to rush forward, but Wyszemir's sharp call stopped her. "Don't move! If you don't move, the Sand Maggots can't find you!"

"But what about Snowhammer!" the sorceress exclaimed. Wyszemir rolled his eyes in disgust.

"Cast your spells from there!" the necromancer retorted. "Whatever you do, don't move!"

Tara nodded in understanding, and turned a devastating volley of ice blasts on the Sand Maggots swarming out of the ground around Snowhammer. Wyszemir quickly launched his own attack, casting an Amplify Damage curse on the Sand Maggots first before throwing off a volley of Teeth. The first Sand Maggot that had attacked Stasya fell back, its slimy hide perforated by the spell, but two more full grown creatures and several younger ones scrambled to take its place. From the direction of the wagon, the necromancer could already hear his skeletons trying to defend themselves from more of the beasts, but without his guiding hand they would be easily crushed by the sand dwelling demons. Snowhammer flailed about wildly with his maul, still pinned to the ground as another of the Sand Maggots grabbed hold of the barbarian's mailed right arm. Behind the struggling assassin and barbarian, Xaviar's Zeal proved devastatingly effective against the horde of young Maggots trying to seize him in their tiny pincers. Over a dozen had already fallen to the paladin, but still more of them charged forward, heedless of the paladin's thunderous blows. Closer to Wyszemir, Io fought with her trademark efficiency, holding three adult Maggots and another half dozen young ones at bay with her spear and the Charged Bolts that shot out from the blade with every blow that landed against her foes. Tara's ice blasts continued to slam into the Sand Maggots, but as she panicked, the sorceress took an ill advised step forward.

"Unwise, dear," Wyszemir said quietly. A particularly large Sand Maggot suddenly roared out of the ground in front of her.

Wyszemir readied another Amplify Damage spell for Tara's attacker, casting it just as a pilum slammed into the beast's side. Mildly surprised, the necromancer glanced back to Io, but the Amazon was still embroiled in battle with a last, stubborn Sand Maggot that refused to die. Xaviar instead was the sorceress' savior; the paladin hurled one more pilum at the young woman's foe, then took his scepter in hand once more as he crashed down on the Sand Maggots around Snowhammer. The barbarian was almost completely buried beneath the sand as the demons tried to pull him underground, and Stasya was nowhere to be found. Desperately the paladin charged forward, his Zeal made even more effective by the necromancer's Amplify Damage curses, and within seconds the Sand Maggots that had turned to the crusader fell under the crushing blows from his fiery scepter. Even with his lightning fast attack, however, the paladin was seconds too late to save Snowhammer. The barbarian slipped under the sands just as Xaviar dove forward, their fingers missing by the slimmest of margins before the barbarian completely disappeared.

"Snowhammer!" Xaviar bellowed, jumping back to his knees and using his shield as a makeshift spade. The paladin hurled sand behind him as he frantically dug into the ground, but both the barbarian and the assassin had vanished.

"They're gone, Xaviar," Wyszemir said, finally moving. Xaviar ignored the necromancer for a moment, still furiously shoveling his way into the ground. "Xaviar. It's over."

Xaviar finally slumped back on his heels, squatting over the hole he had dug. Io stared down at the sand, silent as she tried to discern her allies' fate. Tara rushed up to the edge of Xaviar's hole, her blue eyes wide with fear as she looked to her older companions for some kind of plan or affirmation that Snowhammer might still be alive. For a long moment no one spoke.

"Are they dead?" Tara finally asked, visibly shaking. 

"Maybe," Wyszemir answered. "If they aren't, I'm sure they wish they were."


	8. Beneath the Sands

Well, you know, sorry about the wait, but that FDNY test was kind of important.

Anyway, I finally got around to the next installment. Who knows where we'll go after this one? At any rate, special dedication type thing for two people. Firstly, to Lady Valtaya, who not only keeps asking me to continue this, but also actually went over to the D&D section to check out my story Hounds of Winter(this is the not so subtle hint that you should all go check out that story, and see my two characters get beaten up in the snow). And also, to Jada Flame, who made puppy eyes at me when asking for me to continue. If you're over twenty and have brown eyes, we need to meet...

Ahem. Yeah. Anyway, the next to chapters...

****

XIII

If not for her new armor, she doubted she would still be alive.

Stasya stabbed and cut her way through the hordes of Sand Maggots in a panicked frenzy, trying frantically to find some kind of relief from the press of the demonic monsters in the utter blackness of the maggots' tunnels. The assassin was practically climbing the smooth, sandy tunnel walls as her enemies pushed forward, trying to drag her back down into the mass of predators with their long mandibles or spitting venom at her with unerring accuracy. While her ring mail certainly provided her with adequate protection from the sharp mandibles of the beasts, the armor also seemed to actually absorb much of the venom before it could penetrate her skin. Even with the added protection of the ring mail, Stasya could still feel the poison making is way into her bloodstream, sending fiery streaks of pain through her arms and legs as she continued to fight her way free of her attackers. If she could only see, she might be able to find a weak point in the Sand Maggots' charge…

Without wasting another second, Stasya hurled a pair of charged bolt traps to the ground at her feet. Brilliant flashes suddenly illuminated the pitch black tunnels as the traps released their electrical discharges, lighting up a long, narrow tunnel practically filled with the disgusting maggots. Barely visible to her right on the edge of the traps' illumination, Snowhammer was stumbling to one knee as the maggots' poison worked its way through his blood. The barbarian had seemingly won the initial battle, as only a handful of Sand Maggot young tried to pick their way through his feeble defenses, but it was likely only a matter of a short time before the north man died of the venom seeping into his skin. Still, if he survived, Snowhammer was Stasya's best chance at escaping the maggots' lair.

Stasya feinted left quickly, slashing through the slimy skin of one maggot, then turned right quickly as the charged bolt traps loosed a final burst of electricity. The tunnel plunged back into darkness as the assassin leapt over a final pair of Sand Maggots, but Stasya had committed the tunnel to memory in the few seconds of light that the traps had afforded her. Only an instant before she figured that she would reach Snowhammer, Stasya lunged forward, her _kris_ leading the way as she slid along the floor on her knees. Her memory proved correct as her blade slashed through one Sand Maggot larva, then sank to the hilt into the body of a second. Stasya turned quickly back to the maggots she left behind, and threw another pair of charged bolt traps behind her to ward off the disgusting creatures. In the wildly dancing light of the electrical discharges, Snowhammer gazed up at the assassin, his eyes barely able to focus on her.

"Snowhammer!" Stasya shouted, slapping the barbarian's face. "Come on, Snowhammer! Snap out of it!"

"I don't think I'm gonna make it," Snowhammer said wearily. "You get going. I've got enough left for a few more swings."

"You're not dying here," Stasya ordered, trying to drag the north man to his feet. Snowhammer feebly tried to rise, but barely made it to one knee before he collapsed again. "Come on!"

"Too much poison," Snowhammer explained, rapidly beginning to lose his coherence. "My whole body is on fire. You got a little bit of water?"

"God damnit!" Stasya exclaimed, standing up for a moment and stomping her foot into the sand. The charged bolt traps were rapidly fizzling out, but the assassin hurled another pair into the Sand Maggots as they tried once again to close in on the two humans. Finally, cursing in frustration, Stasya pulled her small pack off of her shoulders and dug into it, pulling out a healing potion and another vial filled with a thick black liquid. Hurriedly the assassin knelt down over Snowhammer, and forced the barbarian's mouth open.

"Get offa me," Snowhammer demanded, trying weakly to push the assassin away.

"Shut up and drink!" Stasya retorted, practically jamming the vial of antidote into the barbarian's throat. Snowhammer nearly spit the foul tasting liquid back into Stasya's face, but the assassin clamped the barbarian's mouth shut and pinched his nose closed before he could spit out the potion. Snowhammer bucked as he swallowed the horrible tasting liquid, but Stasya held on until he had forced down the entire antidote potion. "I know, they taste horrible," the assassin said, uncorking the healing potion in her hands. "Now drink this, stupid. You're not dying on me until you get me out of here!"

Snowhammer choked down the healing potion, but Stasya was already turning back to the oncoming maggots as they bypassed the charged bolt traps in the tunnel. The first Sand Maggot caught Stasya's _kris_ in its eye, but a second suddenly exploded out of the wall on her side and slammed into her before she could move. The assassin fell to the ground under the weight of the beast even as the Sand Maggot's mandibles searched for her throat, unable to raise her _kris_ or put her buckler in line to parry the monster's attack.

The Sand Maggot suddenly folded backwards on top of her as Snowhammer's maul crushed the creature's back. The north man dragged Stasya to her feet as he kicked away a last larva, then hurled the assassin behind him before any more of the demons could reach her. Once again healthy, Snowhammer slammed his maul down on another pair of the Sand Maggots, buying Stasya enough time to find and drink a healing potion before her own wounds could slow her down.

"We have to get out of here!" Snowhammer shouted, disappearing again as the charged bolt traps let out a final crackle and died. 

"Just turn and run!" Stasya shouted, wasting no more time in the narrow corridor. The assassin was already sprinting away from the battle as she heard Snowhammer turn and flee from the Sand Maggots, praying that she would be able to find a way to elude the Sand Maggots long enough to locate a way out of the subterranean chambers.

_________________________________________________

"You realize our chances of finding them are exceedingly slim."

"If you want to wait out here, that's fine by me," Xaviar said, turning a cold glare on Wyszemir. The four remaining travelers had quickly uncovered the apparent entrance to the Sand Maggot lair beneath the oasis; a hole just large enough for Xaviar to crawl through was partially hidden under a large boulder, its sides smoothed by the maggots' passage when they came to the surface. Considering their initial attack, Xaviar was surprised to find any kind of noticeable opening to the lair, but fortune had been on his side so far. "As for me, I'm not going to leave two friends to die under this god forsaken desert."

"Neither am I," Tara said, quickly siding with the paladin against the gaunt necromancer. Wyszemir chuckled as his cold blue eyes swept over the pair, but then he turned to Io.

"And what say you, war captain?" the death mage inquired of the Amazon. Io hesitated for a moment, but then nodded to the hole.

"We can't leave two of our party behind," the Amazon stated simply. "I know we take a terrible risk going down there, but they are our friends."

"Such noble, courageous hearts," Wyszemir said with a laugh, turning a helpless smile to the rapidly darkening skies above the desert. He looked back to his remaining companions, and his grin widened even further. "I shall recommend you all for sainthood once we reach a temple of Zakarum. Perhaps we shall even go to Travincal, where they can to honor your pure hearts and sacred deeds in a great ceremony."

"Are you coming with us, or are you going to wait out here?" Xaviar asked impatiently, not at all amused by the necromancer's comments.

"How indeed could I leave myself out of such a noble cause?" Wyszemir asked, feigning shock that the paladin even needed to ask such a question.

"Then shut up and let's go," Xaviar ordered, turning back to the sandy hole in the ground. With a final, cold glance over his shoulder, Xaviar carefully slid down into the dark tunnels beneath the oasis. Tara moved quickly to follow the paladin, disappearing into the darkness without another glance at the necromancer. Io dropped down into the hole a moment later, leaving the death mage alone in the gathering darkness. Finally, Wyszemir followed his companions into the lair, sliding down the tunnel to the alcove below.

The faint bit of illumination from above lit only a tiny circle around the necromancer, but the flames that Io had conjured around the blade of her spear revealed the rest of the close chamber to the four companions. The sand composing the walls and ceiling of the tunnel were smooth and firm to the touch, likely held in place by some kind of bonding agent that the maggots secreted. Tracks created by the maggots marred the soft floor, leading from a sort of alcove just beneath the entrance to a network of tunnels that stretched beneath the oasis. A stale, hot breeze wafted out of the recesses of the tunnel complex, carrying a faint odor of acid and bile to the entrance.

"Spellcasters in the middle," Io ordered, not waiting to see if Xaviar would reclaim his position as group leader. "I have the light, so I'll go first. Xaviar, bring up the rear. And keep an eye out for Stasya, Snowhammer, or any of the maggots that live down here."

"By all means, lead the way," Wyszemir offered, stepping to the side and allowing Io to move past. The Amazon shot the smug necromancer a withering glare as she took the lead, but said nothing as she concentrated on the dark passages. Wyszemir fell into step behind her, seemingly more concerned with the condition of his bone shield than the tunnels around him. Tara glanced back to Xaviar, but the paladin simply gestured for her to take her place behind the death mage. Finally, Xaviar followed the others down into the tunnels, continually glancing over his shoulder as he listened for their lost companions or any Sand Maggots that might have heard their entrance.

It took Io only a few dozen yards to find herself at a four way intersection in the tunnels. With no more than a second's hesitation the Amazon turned to follow the tunnel to her right, only to find herself at another crossroads minutes later.

"This is impossible," Io grumbled, looking in each direction as she considered her options. "These tunnels are set up like a maze."

"As I mentioned earlier," Wyszemir said smugly.

"Maybe we can mark the passages somehow," Tara suggested. Wyszemir burst out laughing. "What's so funny?" the sorceress demanded.

"What would you have us mark these passages with?" the necromancer inquired. "I seem to have forgotten my sign posts in my other backpack."

"We… could leave some kind of mark on the wall," Tara countered indignantly. "We could carve the sand with a dagger, or maybe Io can singe the wall a little."

"Oh, of course," Wyszemir said, an amused smile on his face. The necromancer opened his mouth to speak, but Io held up a hand for silence. For a moment the group remained silent and still, listening to the dark passages.

"What is it?" Xaviar asked quietly, moving up past the spellcasters to Io's side.

"I don't know," the Amazon whispered back. "It sounds like a… buzzing. Like flies."

"Which way?" Xaviar asked. Io pointed to her left. "Then we'll go right. Good enough?"

"Good enough," Io agreed. The Amazon turned right, but stopped again as a low buzzing began to fill the tunnels.

"What is that?" Tara asked nervously, taking a step back toward Xaviar. The paladin raised Order Bar, tensing for an attack, but the buzzing simply continued to grow louder as it echoed through the narrow tunnels. Standing in the center of the intersection, Io remained still as she waited for an attack, glancing quickly from one corridor to the next in search of an enemy. Even Wyszemir, so often nonplused by the horrors that the demonspawn were unleashing upon the world, took a step away from the Amazon and set his back against a wall, readying his bone shield to defend himself. Slowly Io turned as the buzz rose to a near deafening roar, seeing a dark cloud moving toward her from her left.

The cloud suddenly surged over the group, revealing itself as thousands of black, biting insects that instantly sought out the party. Io staggered back as the full swarm surged over her, lost in the cloud of Black Locusts before she could attempt to defend herself. Wyszemir dropped back behind his shield, trying to swat the locusts away as they bit and stung the necromancer, while Xaviar tried to concentrate through the assault and bring up an aura of holy fire around him. Just a step behind him, Tara shrieked in terror as the swarm hit her, flailing away with her staff for a moment, but then throwing off a flurry of ice bolts in every direction. Turning just in time to see her, Xaviar ducked only a second before a blast of ice and frost nearly slammed into his face. Behind him, Wyszemir was barely able to deflect the blast off of his shield, somehow managing to redirect it into a thick mass of the locusts.

"Control her, paladin!" Wyszemir demanded, shouting through the deafening drone. Xaviar leapt back to his feet, hit fiery aura burning locusts away even as more fought through the heat to sting his exposed flesh, in time to see the hysterical sorceress racing away into the dark tunnels. Wyszemir and Io were still nearly lost in the swarm, but if the paladin hesitated for even another second Tara could vanish without another trace in the tunnels.

"Stay with Io!" Xaviar shouted to Wyszemir. Without waiting for any reply from the necromancer, the paladin sprinted off into the dark passages, trying to catch up to the sorceress before she could become irretrievably lost in the darkness.

_________________________________________________

With the terrible buzzing in his ears and the stings of hundreds of insects finding their way under his chain mail and robes, Wyszemir barely heard the paladin's final order before he disappeared into the tunnels again. By the time the necromancer realized that two of his allies had abandoned him, Wyszemir had somehow forced his way into the center of the intersection, nearly back to back with Io as the Amazon unleashed wave after wave of charged bolts in increasingly random directions. With lightning arcing across the passage and his senses overwhelmed by the stinging mass converging on him, Wyszemir started into a spell that would hopefully decimate the flying swarm. Even as he began to cast, however, Io whirled around in her frantic attempts to ward off the insects, the haft of her spear thumping solidly across the necromancer's temple and knocking him to the ground. Stunned and reeling from the unexpected assault, Wyszemir somehow managed to start his spell over, completing it as he staggered back to one knee.

The corridors suddenly filled with hundreds of miniature explosions as every dead insect burst apart. The necromancer was jarred by the assault as dozens of crushed locusts exploded beneath his chain mail, ripping dozens of small wounds across his chest, back, and arms, the injuries were a small price to pay as the explosions ripped through what remained of the living insects. Behind him, Io fell flat on her back as the explosions beneath her own armor knocked her over, but in an instant the death mage had managed to destroy his disgusting attackers. For a long moment both Wyszemir and Io lay still on the ground, resting on a carpet of squashed bugs, until the Amazon finally forced herself up to one knee.

"What was that?" she asked wearily, wiping the remains of the insects from her face and arms.

"A corpse explosion," Wyszemir groaned, pushing himself up against a wall and searching his belt for a healing potion. "I would prefer to blow myself up than be eaten by locusts."

"I can't blame you," Io said, removing a healing potion from her own belt. The Amazon tilted the vial back, drinking the potion down, then looked around the intersection again. "Where are Xaviar and Tara?"

"Tara broke and ran, after nearly killing me with a stray ice blast," Wyszemir answered, not bothering to hide the disgust in his voice. "Our noble crusader went after her, I guess trying to bring her back."

"Which way did they go?" Io asked, retrieving her spear and holding it up as a torch once more. Wyszemir started to turn to point behind him, but suddenly stopped as he considered the nearly identical corridors around him.

"They went back the way we came," the necromancer said uncertainly. Io glanced around the crossroads as well, realizing the same problem that Wyszemir was having.

"And, which way was that?" Io pressed, hoping that the necromancer would be able to recognize something along the corridor they had taken to the ambush site. Wyszemir took another second to try and find anything familiar, but then turned back to the Amazon with a faint smirk.

"Well, it has to be one of these four corridors," the death mage observed. "Which one would you like it to be?"

_________________________________________________

Her screams made it far easier to track her, but Xaviar could barely keep track of landmarks and turns as he raced after Tara. The sorceress somehow managed to dart past a pair of Sand Maggots that Xaviar had been forced to waste time killing, but now Tara seemed to be wearing out as she stumbled into a large, empty corridor and frantically clawed at the straps holding her breastplate closed. As she finally stopped in the center of the dark chamber, Xaviar caught up to her, grabbing her arm before she could take off again.

"They're in my armor!" Tara screamed hysterically. "They're in my armor! Get it off _they're in my armor!"_

"Hold still!" Xaviar ordered, shoving the sorceress into the nearest wall and pinning her with one arm. With his free hand the paladin unbuckled the straps on the left side of the sorceress' breastplate, pulling the armor open and dragging the young woman out through the side. Tara collapsed to the ground as she desperately tore at her robes, spilling a last few crushed locusts onto the sand at her knees. Finally, free of the insects, Tara's screams died down to gasps as she tried to regain her breath. Breathing a sigh of relief, Xaviar glanced around the dark chamber that they had entered, making certain that they had not come upon some kind of breeding pit inside the hive.

Tara suddenly screamed again, leaping off of the ground and nearly tripping over her discarded breastplate as she tried to backpedal away from something on the ground. Xaviar caught the sorceress as she nearly lost her footing, and Tara immediately buried her face in the paladin's surcoat as she threw herself into his arms.

"Easy now," Xaviar said, reluctantly pulling the sorceress closer to him as he peered over her shoulder. Only a few feet from where Tara had dropped to the ground, a long dead caravan guard lay pinned to the ground under a partial cocoon of silk. The guard's face and one visible arm had been eaten away by both the Sand Maggots and simple decay, turning the unfortunate man into a disgusting, half digested pile of flesh and bone. "Come on," Xaviar said gently, leading Tara away from the corpse. "Come on. Let's just sit down over here, and try to regain our composure."

Xaviar helped Tara to the far end of the room, finally letting her sink down against the sandy wall until she could get control of her emotions. Out of sight of the body, the sorceress once again managed to calm herself, dropping her head into her hands as her breathing finally slowed to a more normal level. With Tara finally taken care of, the paladin tried to recall the course they had taken to the chamber, but Xaviar found himself unable to remember how many turns they had taken, much less the directions of the turns. As he retrieved Tara's breastplate and helped the sorceress back into her armor, the paladin made one silent prayer that he would recognize something in the tunnels to lead him back to the others.

_________________________________________________

"Do you have any idea where you're going?"

"Do I look like a Sand Maggot to you?" Stasya asked irritably, turning back to Snowhammer in the middle of a particularly low, narrow tunnel. While she had little trouble navigating the stony corridor, Snowhammer was scraping and cursing his way through the passage as his height kept him hunched over. Fortunately, the jewel that Stasya had found so long ago on the body of a Saber Cat glowed with a dim, crimson light, allowing the two lost travelers to at least see where they were going.

"Do you want me to answer that?" the barbarian inquired in reply, trying to edge his way through a particularly narrow section of the tunnel. Stasya hesitated for a moment, practically infuriated by the offhand remark, but finally turned back to the tunnels ahead.

"Look, I said I would get us out of here, so I'll get us out of here," the assassin stated, ignoring the comment for the time being.

"Yeah, well, you've been leading us through these tunnels for hours now," Snowhammer said, fighting to keep up with his comrade. "I think we've been through here before."

"You can't even see five feet in front of your face, bonehead," Stasya said, picking her way carefully across the uneven floor. "At least I can see where I'm going. And, for your information, we haven't been through here before. There's nothing dead here."

"Oh, well that lifts my spirits," Snowhammer grumbled. "I wouldn't have picked such a small passage. You're going to get me stuck in here."

"I didn't save your worthless life just to get you stuck in a tunnel," Stasya retorted. "And you could at least show a little bit of respect to me for that."

"Well, you'll certainly never let me forget about it," Snowhammer grumbled.

"That's right," Stasya agreed, pushing her way through a partially collapsed section of the tunnel around a blind bend. The assassin pulled herself over a last boulder that had fallen in the way, but stopped as she found herself face to face with a wall of sand. Snowhammer pushed himself past the collapse with a final grunt, and stopped as he too saw the newest obstacle.

"Nice job," the north man said simply. "I think I'll lead now. Give me that jewel."

"Shut up and give me a second to think," Stasya said, examining the wall for a moment. She was about to turn away, conceding the point to the barbarian, when a faint, almost imperceptible breeze tickled the back of her neck.

"Look, just give me the light," Snowhammer prompted. "It's a dead end. We can't go any further this way."

Stasya tossed the jewel to Snowhammer, but as the barbarian started to turn back up the passage, the assassin lashed out with a powerful kick at the wall. The sand exploded outward under the force of the blow, revealing a small chamber lit by a dim shaft of moonlight shining down through a hole in the ceiling.

"You can head back that way, if you want," Stasya said. "I'm going to leave now."

****

XIV

"They wouldn't have."

"They must have," Snowhammer said, standing over entrance to the maggot lair. By the cool, pale light of the full moon, the barbarian had searched for any signs of their missing comrades, but the only thing he had found in the relative darkness was a half obscured trail that led to the inky hole in the ground in front of them. "They must have gone down there to look for us," Snowhammer reasoned, kneeling at the edge of the hole.

"Wyszemir would never be so stupid," Stasya argued, her arms folded across her chest as she kicked a bit of sand into the dark hole. "That place is a maze! They'd be lost in a minute!"

"Well then where are they?" Snowhammer asked, standing up and facing his far smaller companion.

"How should I know?" the assassin answered, throwing up her hands in confusion. "Maybe they continued on to Lut Gholein!"

"Come on, you know Xaviar wouldn't leave us behind unless he knew we were dead," Snowhammer pointed out. "And I'd like to think that the others aren't completely heartless."

"It would be suicide to go down there!" Stasya exclaimed, shaking her head in disbelief. "No. Xaviar, sure, Tara, maybe, but not Io or Wyszemir."

"They went in there," Snowhammer said evenly. The barbarian slung his maul across his back, and studied the hole for a moment. "Well, I guess we have to go back in there after them."

"Are you absolutely insane?" Stasya asked, stunned. Snowhammer said nothing, but glared at the assassin. "Bad question," Stasya reasoned. "You're a barbarian. Of course you're insane."

"I'm going back down there," Snowhammer stated, his eyes still locked on the young woman. "Now you can wait out here if you're that scared of going back in there, but I'm going to see if I can find the others."

"And what happens if they give up and come back out, thinking that we must have been killed and eaten?" Stasya asked. "What if they've already left for Lut Gholein? What if we go back down there and get killed, you idiot?"

"I said you could wait out here," Snowhammer pointed out. Without another word, the barbarian jumped down into the hole. For a moment Stasya simply stared, open mouthed, at where the north man had disappeared, but finally let out a sigh of resignation.

"I'm stuck with a band full of morons," the assassin complained to the night sky. Then she stepped forward and dropped down through the hole, landing softly on the sand below. Leaning against the far wall, Snowhammer grinned as she stood up and drew her _kris_.

"I thought you'd come around," the barbarian said simply.

"I stand a better chance down here with allies than up there alone," Stasya muttered. "But we only check around a little bit, and then we're gone," the assassin continued. "We can't waste too much time down here."

"Just get that jewel out and light the way," Snowhammer said, still smirking as he started into the only tunnel leading out of the entry chamber.

_________________________________________________

"I don't think this is the right direction."

"And I don't care," Io muttered, still leading the way through the Sand Maggot lair. Behind her, Wyszemir ambled along casually, acting as though he was on a simple stroll through the streets of some town above ground.

"Well, we have not found our four lost companions, nor have we returned to the entrance to this complex," the death mage observed, running one hand idly along the sandy wall. "Also, if I recall correctly, the surface was above us, yet we seem to have descended even farther below ground."

"Wyszemir," Io said, turning around. The necromancer stopped, raising one eyebrow in casual inquiry. "If you don't stop talking, I swear to God I'll cut your tongue out."

"You've become rather less amiable since assuming command of our little company," Wyszemir remarked, undeterred by the Amazon's threat. Sighing in disgust, the Amazon turned back to the tunnels ahead of her, praying that the necromancer would run out of comments, or maybe get eaten by a Sand Maggot. "Does the weight of leadership rest uncomfortably on your mailed shoulders?"

"Does the sound of your voice ever irritate you?" Io asked in reply, finding herself in yet another downward sloping corridor as she rounded a corner. Once more the Amazon stopped, searching for signs of tracks in the sandy floor, but again only the pointed imprints of Sand Maggot legs dotted the ground.

"Still farther downward we tread," Wyszemir commented, seeing the passage's decline.

"It's possible that Snowhammer and Stasya were brought this way," Io said, looking up from the ground. "Or maybe you don't care about your companion enough to try looking for her?"

"While I would like to find Stasya, I also realize the fact that, if she has been captured, she and the northerner would both have ended up like that unfortunate, half decomposed guardsman we passed not long ago," Wyszemir explained. "While I would like to find the girl alive, I prefer not to risk my life simply to find her remains."

"Xaviar and Tara might have come this way," Io continued. "If they have, we may be able to rejoin them."

"Or they may have returned to the surface," Wyszemir countered.

"Do you really think Xaviar of all people would return to the surface without finding us or the others?" Io inquired, glancing over her shoulder at the necromancer.

"Xaviar is driven by his need to be some shining example to the huddled masses," Wyszemir said. "Of course he would remain in thee tunnels, for the rest of his life if need be. But I would think that you would realize that they could all be on the surface right now, waiting for us. And yet, you persist in our downward journey."

"Well if you see a passage that we haven't already tried that goes up, we'll head back for the surface," Io snapped, pushing her way stubbornly through the passage. It was finally beginning to level off, giving the Amazon some hope that she might soon be back on the surface. "Otherwise, just shut your mouth."

"As you wish, war captain," Wyszemir said smugly. Io closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and willed herself not to impale the arrogant death mage.

The Amazon's eyes popped open again as a faint, unmistakable drone filtered down through the passage. Slowly Io turned around, looking past Wyszemir, searching out the origin of the buzz, but for the moment the two humans were the corridor's only occupants. Wyszemir's arrogant smile faded away as soon as he heard the distant buzz, and the necromancer raised his bone shield in preparation for renewed combat. For a long time the two reluctant allies remained still and silent, trying to judge the distance and the direction of the unseen swarms of insects.

"They are coming closer," Wyszemir said, unwilling to raise his voice above a whisper. "We should continue."

Io nodded silently, and began again to following the downward sloping path. Wyszemir took a few steps after her, but then stopped and summoned up a barrier of solid bone to keep the locusts from following them. With only a second of hesitation, Io kept moving, wondering if the bone wall would block their retreat from something more fearsome than a horde of biting insects.

The wall of bone suddenly shook violently. The buzz of the insects became a dull, grinding cacophony as the locusts began to chew their way through Wyszemir's barrier. The necromancer dropped back quickly, erecting another wall of bone just behind the first.

"I would think that this is not a time for delay!" the death mage exclaimed, raising yet another wall in the narrow corridor. Without another second of hesitation Io rushed forward, sprinting away from the insect swarms with all the speed she could muster. Fighting demons was one thing, but a swarm of insects was near impossible to kill with a spear or a bow. Quickly the Amazon turned a blind bend in the passage, but suddenly skidded to a stop at the entrance to a large chamber, dimly illuminated by the flames emanating from her spear. Wyszemir nearly slammed into her from behind a moment later, but the necromancer managed to stop himself before he threw Io into the chamber.

"Maybe we should have fought the locusts," Wyszemir suggested, his characteristically smug tone long gone. Io could only nod in mute agreement as she scanned the dozens of inhabitants of the chamber. Sand Maggots and Rock Worms busied themselves tending to pulsing egg masses half buried in the sand or feeding the scores of young maggots scraps of flesh and bone. The entire floor seemed to be crawling with young and mature demons, but these more mundane foes were little more than an afterthought as the Amazon gawked at the room's central inhabitant. The thing was huge by any standard, more than five times larger than even the biggest Sand Maggot, with mandibles at least as long as the Amazon's spear. As the two humans hesitated on the threshold of the maggots' birthing chamber, Wyszemir let out a humorless chuckle. "Just our luck to find the oldest, strongest maggot in all of Sanctuary," the necromancer said. "We have found the lair of Coldworm the Burrower."

_________________________________________________

"I… I'm so sorry."

"Tara, I told you, it's all right," Xaviar said, stopping and turning back to the sorceress. Tara kept her eyes on the ground, unwilling to meet the paladin's gaze.

"I… if I hadn't run, we would at least be with Io and Wyszemir," she said quietly. "Now we're lost and alone. I'm so sorry."

"Tara, look at me," Xaviar said, gently lifting the young woman's chin. For a moment she tried to look away, but finally met the paladin's hazel eyes. "Fear can take hold of anyone, especially one so unused to the horrors of combat. In my opinion, you've stood up to the trials of this ordeal as well as any of us. You do not need to blame yourself for anything."

Tara remained silent for a long moment, gazing up into the paladin's eyes as she tried to measure his sincerity. Finally, the sorceress forced out a weak smile.

"Thank you," Tara said quietly. "I… you've been very kind to me."

"What kind of a paladin would I be if I were not?" Xaviar asked with a touch of humor. Tara let out a more genuine laugh, finally beginning to relax. "Now, we have to find the others, and find a way out of here as well. Now as we travel, keep a look out for anything that might lead us to our friends."

"Do… do you have any idea which way to go?" Tara asked as the two began walking again.

"Not really," Xaviar answered, sounding almost unconcerned. "But with a little luck, we'll stumble across our friends soon enough."

With Tara reassured, Xaviar started forward through the passages, relying on the dim, bluish light radiating from Tara's staff to light the way for him. As he walked, the paladin tried to find any signs of human life in the sandy corridors, but the only humans the pair found were long dead guardsmen or caravan teamsters. 

The passages seemed to lead deeper into the earth, but Xaviar could see no alternative to his course. Heading back the way they came would bring them back to the dead end chamber where he had caught Tara, but he did not remember so many twists and turns in the passages during his chase. Tara, if she realized that the two were heading down instead of up, remained silent about the matter, trusting in the paladin to find their way out of the nest. As the pair continued, however, Xaviar recognized nothing from his surroundings, and began to wonder if he would ever find his way out of the labyrinth. It felt like the pair had been walking aimlessly for almost an hour when Xaviar finally stopped, shaking his head as he scanned the dark tunnels.

"Maybe we should try heading back the way we came," Tara offered quietly. Xaviar looked back up the faintly sloping corridor, and shrugged.

"We had to have missed a turn somewhere," the paladin decided, casting one last glance down the passage. "We can try retracing our steps, and…"

The paladin left his sentence unfinished, suddenly straining to hear something in the lair. Tara opened her mouth, ready to ask what had caught his attention, but Xaviar held a hand up for silence before she could speak. For a long moment the two waited in the tunnel, listening for whatever Xaviar had heard.

The dull, faint echo of an explosion carried through the passage, barely audible even in the still air.

"What is that?" Tara asked nervously.

"Come on," Xaviar directed, already racing down the corridor.

_________________________________________________

Their first option had been to turn and flee. They had even made it three steps before the Black Locusts swarmed over them, hurling them back into the nesting chamber and the swarms of waiting Sand Maggots.

Io whirled and lashed out blindly, unable to see through the stinging clouds of insects surrounding her as she stumbled back through the waiting throngs of Sand Maggots. Wyszemir had disappeared somewhere to her left, but the Amazon could not spare a thought for the necromancer as she tried to regain her bearings and push back to the chamber's entrance in a desperate attempt to break free of her enemies. Within moments, however, Io found herself being inexorably forced backward by the stinging locusts and the powerful mandibles of the Sand Maggots. Only a few feet behind her, Io could already hear the monstrous brood mother, Coldworm the Burrower, turning its huge pincers in her direction. The Amazon fought desperately to keep away from the huge maggot, but for every Sand Maggot she killed another two swarmed forward to take its place, and each maggot's bite set her blood to burning with poison.

Pale white streaks suddenly tore through the maggots around her, and several of the smaller corpses exploded in the clouds of locusts. Io hazarded a glance to Wyszemir, catching a glimpse of the necromancer and a huge, disgusting construct that looked for all the world like some skinless giant fighting by his side. Wyszemir's blood golem lumbered forward, ripping through maggots and larvae in its ponderous push to Io's side. The necromancer had managed to erect a series of bone walls around him, forcing the maggots to attack him down a single, narrow corridor through which he loosed a volley of teeth and powerful, ghostly bone spears. Even with the death mage's lethal magical assaults, the maggots stubbornly scrambled over their dead comrades or doggedly ripped pieces of the bone walls apart in their attempt to reach their prey.

"It's time to end this," Io snarled through gritted teeth. Instead of trying to fight her way back to the only way out of the chamber, she turned and charged forward, her fiery spear aimed directly at Coldworm's huge, exposed flank. A last Sand Maggot managed to catch hold of the Amazon's ankle, crushing her greaves and nearly breaking her ankle, but Io ignored the assault and threw herself forward at the monster ahead of her. The giant maggot let out a piercing screech as it turned on her, catching Io in its mandibles only a second before she could fall to the ground. The Amazon's chain mail twisted and tore, but Io kicked away the maggot on her leg and jammed her spear into Coldworm's open maw. Again Coldworm shrieked in agony as the fiery blade loosed a burst of lightning inside of it, but Io continued to stab at the huge maggot, unleashing charged bolts down the creature's gullet with each hit. Behind her, Wyszemir's blood golem pounded mindlessly on the maggot's flanks, but Coldworm barely even noticed the construct in its desperate attempts to throw the Amazon clear. Even with her grievous wounds and her blood boiling with poison, Io hurled herself into the beast's maw one last time, driving her spear into the maggot until the tip exploded out of Coldworm's back.

The maggot let out a final, ear splitting shriek, nearly deafening Io as the mauled Amazon tried to stagger free of the collapsing giant. Coldworm the Burrower slammed back into the ground with a mighty, ripping explosion, tossing Io back into the wall in a blast of poisonous ichor and ice. The Amazon slammed into the wall and collapsed to the ground as the numbing cold robbed her of the last of her strength, unable to stand and unwilling to try. Her blood roared in her ears, drowning out any last sounds of battle from Wyszemir or the necromancer's blood golem. What little of her vision remained was focused on the gigantic corpse in front of her, but even Coldworm's mangled remains were beginning to fade into darkness.

"Io?"

The voice was somewhere near, and somehow familiar, but she was fairly certain that it was not Wyszemir.

"Io! Wake up! Please!"

A woman's voice. Frantic. All she wanted was to sleep. Nothing to panic about…

_________________________________________________

"Io, please! Come on, don't die!"

"I'm just tired," Io mumbled, her voice barely coherent. Frantically Tara shook the Amazon by her bloodstained shoulders, but Io barely noticed.

"Xaviar!" Tara practically screamed, turning back to the last of the battle. She and the paladin had managed to stumble upon the chamber by sheer luck, finding Wyszemir half buried in a pile of broken bones and maggot corpses, but the necromancer had managed to stagger to his feet and aid in killing the last of the maggot larvae. Xaviar rushed to the sorceress' side within a heartbeat, quickly taking stock of the badly wounded Amazon. For a moment Io's eyes flickered open, and she regarded the paladin as he placed his hands over the worst of her wounds. Behind him, Wyszemir stumbled to the group, casting a wary glance over his shoulder at the slain maggots.

"You have an antidote?" Xaviar asked, turning to Tara. The sorceress fumbled with her pack for a moment.

"No," the sorceress answered helplessly. She turned back to the necromancer as he tried to uncork a healing potion with his bloodstained hands. "Wyszemir! Do you have an antidote?"

"I do not," the necromancer replied, a touch of regret in his voice.

"Xaviar," Io said weakly.

"I'm here," the paladin said. "Just rest, and let the cleansing prayer work. Tara, give her a healing potion from my pack."

"Don't bother," Io said. "I'm sorry, Xaviar. I won't be able to go to Kurast with you."

"You're not getting out of your promise that easily," Xaviar countered, putting all of his concentration into his prayer of cleansing. Tara hastily uncorked a healing potion, but as she turned to Io the Amazon's head slumped back against the sandy wall.

"Io?" Tara prompted, gently lifting the Amazon's head. Io's dark eyes remained open, but the spark of life had vanished. Xaviar looked up from her injuries for a moment, then hung his head. "Can't… can't you do something?" Tara asked desperately, turning to the paladin.

"She… is beyond our help," Xaviar answered quietly, shaking his head sadly. Reverently the paladin folded Io's hands across her chest. "May the Light shine on you in your next life. May it guide you to the fields of Heaven, where you will join the angels in everlasting happiness. Never again shall you know pain and suffering, only the purity of the Light."


	9. Unnatural Darkness

I bet you thought I wasn't going to write any more of this...

****

**XV**

The wagon bounced uncomfortably as it trundled along the rocky expanses of the Dry Hills in the midday sun, but Tara barely noticed the rough ride as she simply stared at the gnarled staff in her hands. Fearing a renewed attack for the death of Coldworm the Burrower, Wyszemir had suggested moving on without delay once the group had reached the surface from the maggot lair, and Xaviar had been too tired, too hurt by Io's death, and too convinced of the possibility of another attack to argue the continued use of the necromancer's undead pack horses.

Now, a day later, silence blanketed the wagon but for the creaking axles and a few fitful whimpers from Stasya, curled in a ball and fast asleep in one corner of the wagon. Xaviar also slept as the wagon crawled across the sands and rocks, stretched out along the opposite side of the wagon and using his splint mail as what must have been a very uncomfortable pillow. Wyszemir, after having slept the better part of the previous day while Xaviar maintained a vigilant guard, once again took to guiding his animated skeletons, sitting in the driver's seat with the reins loose in his hands. A low grunt and a sharp inhalation of breath came from Snowhammer as another bounce knocked the north man out of his slumber, sitting propped against the front of the wagon with his feet up against one of the tuns of water. Slowly the barbarian rubbed at his eyes, then looked over to the sorceress.

"You all right?" Snowhammer asked, leaning forward slightly.

"I'm fine," Tara answered quietly, not taking her eyes from the staff.

"You don't sound fine," Snowhammer pressed, carefully negotiating his way past the water tun to the sorceress' side. "You you sure you don't want to talk about anything?"

"Certain," Tara replied, her voice barely above a whisper and her eyes still locked on the staff. Snowhammer gently lowered himself to a sitting position next to the young woman, but for several minutes the two simply rocked back and forth with the wagon in silence.

"It was a battle," the barbarian finally said, breaking the silence. Tara closed her eyes, but said nothing. "I mean, no one ever wants to think it will happen, but it was a battle."

"Snowhammer, please," Tara said, finally turning to the north man. "Just let it go."

"I'm sorry," Snowhammer said, turning away from the mage and trying to find anything interesting on the canvas walls of the wagon. For another few minutes the two sat in silence, until the barbarian glanced back to the staff. "Is that staff magical?" he asked, trying to draw the sorceress' mind from the previous day's loss.

"I think so," Tara replied, nodding faintly. "I think it might be the Staff of Kings."

"The Staff of Kings?" Snowhammer repeated quizzically.

"It's an ancient Horadric artifact," Tara explained, finally meeting the barbarian's gaze. "I don't know much about it, but I think it has some powers against the undead."

"I'd like it a little more if it had the power to keep the sun off my back," Snowhammer said with a smirk. Tara forced out a weak smile of her own, then turned back to the staff.

Almost as if something had heard the barbarian's request, the wagon suddenly fell into darkness. The wagon jerked to a halt only a second later, eliciting a groan from Xaviar as his he thumped into the wagon's side.

"Is it night already?" Stasya asked, also awoken by the sudden stop.

"Did the staff do that?" Snowhammer asked nervously, trying to see anything through the darkness. Even Tara, sitting next to him, was barely visible as a shadow against the inky blackness. Wyszemir pushed the flap in the front of the wagon back, letting only the dimmest glimmer of light into the rear of the vehicle.

"Xaviar," the necromancer said simply. Xaviar stumbled to his feet in the darkness, and made his way to the front of the wagon. Snowhammer watched the paladin for a moment, then pushed his way to the back of the wagon to see from the rear. Tara and Stasya joined him a moment later as the barbarian looked up into the sky.

The sun was still at its zenith, but it had seemingly turned from a brilliant gold to darkest black. Although a faint, angry orange light managed to escape its corners and give only the most limited illumination to the desert, the sun had apparently extinguished itself.

"An eclipse," Tara breathed, gazing up into the sky. "I I never thought I'd actually see one."

"A bad omen," Stasya commented, turning back to the wagon.

"This whole trip has been a bad omen," Snowhammer said dryly, turning to the assassin.

"No, it's it's a natural occurrence," Tara corrected, though her voice wavered with uncertainty.

"A natural occurrence, but not one that should be happening now," Wyszemir countered, barely visible on the opposite side of the wagon. "There should be no eclipses for another twenty years or more."

"Regardless of the eclipse, we still need to make it back to Lut Gholein," Xaviar pointed out. "Can we still find our way in the darkness?"

"It will take more time, but yes, we can," Wyszemir answered. "But there is something else to consider. If this eclipse has been caused by the Dark Wanderer or his demons, they will likely use the cover of darkness to renew their attacks upon us."

"Then two people remain awake and on guard at all times," Xaviar directed. 

"We still have the skeletons," Wyszemir began. "They can-"

"I don't trust your skeletons," Xaviar cut in, turning to the necromancer. "Two people remain on guard at all times until we reach Lut Gholein. I don't think that's too much to ask."

"It seems a waste, but, very well," Wyszemir conceded. "Shall we continue with our journey?"

"Please," Snowhammer said, dropping back inside the wagon. "The sooner we're out of this gods forsaken desert, the better."

______________________________________________________

"Is it night yet?"

"I would think so, barbarian," Wyszemir said, still guiding his undead horses along the road to Lut Gholein. The necromancer did not even glance back to Snowhammer as the north man leaned out of the canvas that covered the wagon frame. "What little illumination the sun had given us during the day is gone. Come morning, the sun should return to its normal form."

"I don't know if that's a good thing or not," Snowhammer said with a touch of humor. "After all, that sun is merciless out here. I kind of enjoyed the day without it."

"Nonetheless, the lack of light is slowing our progress," Wyszemir pointed out, leaning forward slightly as he peered into the darkness. "We are still several days from Lut Gholein."

"How do you know where you're going?" Snowhammer asked, looking out into the night himself. "I mean, there's no markers or anything to tell where the road is, and tonight even the stars aren't very bright."

"I have been holding a steady course east all day," Wyszemir explained. "Even during the eclipse I was able to tell east and west. We will reach Lut Gholein soon enough."

"That's good to hear," Snowhammer said. "Do you want me to wake up anyone else so you can get some sleep?"

"Not just yet," Wyszemir answered, guiding the undead horses around an odd pillar of granite. "I will do so myself in an hour or so. You may as well get some sleep, barbarian."

"Xaviar wants two people awake at all times," Snowhammer reminded the necromancer.

"Xaviar would also want us to walk the rest of the way to Lut Gholein, rather than ride in this wagon," the necromancer added. "Would you agree with him there?"

Snowhammer said nothing for a long moment, unwilling to voice agreement with the necromancer. Wyszemir's lips cracked into a faint smile noticed his companion's reluctance to answer. For several more minutes the two rode in silence, until Snowhammer attempted to break the silence again.

"Doesn't it bother you, raising people's skeletons?" the barbarian asked.

"No," Wyszemir answered.

"It's sacrilegious," Snowhammer pointed out. "It's wrong to disturb the dead."

"Do you think that your soul will remain in your body once you have died?" Wyszemir inquired, looking back to the barbarian.

"Well, no," Snowhammer answered.

"So then, how would I be disturbing you once you died?" Wyszemir asked. "There is no life, no soul, in a dead body. It is simply raw material that will one day decay. I do not tear souls from their eternal rest in the Light and return them to their rotting corpses. It is my magic, not some imprisoned essence, that animates the skeletons I raise."

"It is the same magic used by the demons," Snowhammer continued. Wyszemir laughed.

"Magic is nothing more than a force, boy," the necromancer explained, still amused by the north man's comment. "I use it for my own ends, just as the demons use it for their spells, or Tara uses it for her incantations. Magic is not a corrupting force, regardless of what your ancestors might say."

"I think Tara and Xaviar would disagree with you," Snowhammer said. Wyszemir nodded.

"I am certain that they would," the death mage agreed. "Tara's arcane ancestors remember well the schism that tore the Vizjerai apart. But they were corrupted by demons, not by some dark magic', as they would call necromancy. As for the paladins, well, anything that does not come from their archangels must obviously be corrupted."

Snowhammer remained silent for a long moment, uncertain if he should believe Wyszemir's statements.

"It still doesn't feel right," the barbarian finally said. "A dead body should rest in peace."

"Old beliefs are not easily dispelled," Wyszemir said. "There are not many who openly accept my methods, but without them, we would never have reached the Far Oasis alive."

Again Snowhammer fell silent, knowing all too well that the necromancer was right. Without the skeletons and golem to carry water, haul supplies, and fight alongside the living members of the tiny band, Io would not have been the only one to die during the journey. The barbarian was still trying to decide if Wyszemir's logic could be trusted when he realized that the necromancer had brought his skeletal horses to a stop. Even in the darkness, Snowhammer could see a trace of anxiety in Wyszemir's eyes as he scanned the silent desert around him.

"What's wrong?" Snowhammer asked, reaching back for his maul inside the wagon.

"We are on a paved road," Wyszemir answered, his attention still focused on the desert.

"That's good, right?" Snowhammer concluded. "That means we're closer to Lut Gholein, right?"

"We should not have found a paved road in this part of the desert," Wyszemir countered. "Wake the others, and light torches. Quickly."

"What is it?" Snowhammer said, leaning into the wagon to wake Xaviar. "Do you know where we are?"

"I hope not," the necromancer replied, dropping down to the mysterious road.

"Why? Where do you think we are?" Snowhammer shouted after the death mage.

"What's going on?" Xaviar asked sleepily, looking up to Snowhammer. The barbarian looked back down quickly as the paladin began to pull his splint mail over his shoulders.

"We found a road where there should be none," Snowhammer answered. "Wyszemir doesn't like it." 

"A road?" Xaviar repeated, drawing his scepter and strapping his crown shield to his arm. In the back of the wagon, Stasya had already awoken, and was watching nervously through the rear of the vehicle. With his armor only half buckled, Xaviar dropped to the sand, meeting Wyszemir next to the undead horses. "What's this?" the paladin asked, kicking at the ancient stones.

"A road," Wyszemir answered. "Very old. And those square shapes," the necromancer added, gesturing to a series of almost invisible objects in the darkness, "are, or at least were, houses."

"It's like a whole lost city," Tara said, gently lowering herself from the wagon.

"Yes," Wyszemir answered. "That's exactly what it is."

**XVI**

"What do you know about this Lost City?"

"Well, the stories I've heard are all pretty vague," Tara said, answering Xaviar's question before Wyszemir could voice a reply. The sorceress and Snowhammer were both seated just inside the wagon's canvas flaps, while Xaviar had taken the seat alongside Wyszemir to watch the gloomy ruins. Stasya remained in the rear of the wagon, watching the road behind them for any signs of an enemy that might be following them. "I don't know much about it, but the city was supposed to have been attacked by demons and lost before Lut Gholein had been built."

"Apparently, your betrothed was the scholar, not you," Wyszemir said, callously disregarding the sorceress' recent loss. "The city was built long before Lut Gholein, but it was not attacked by demons."

"Wyszemir, show some tact," Xaviar prompted, glancing back to Tara. Wyszemir's remark had stung the young woman, but she did little more than glare at the death mage's back as he drove the wagon. With a final pat on the sorceress' hand, Xaviar turned back to Wyszemir. "So what do you know about this Lost City?" the crusader asked.

"As Tara has stated, the Lost City is much older than Lut Gholein," the necromancer began. "It dates back to the schism that split the Vizjerai between Bartuc and Horazon. During that time, the desert clans that populated the Rocky Wastes and the Dry Hills were beset by demons of every description, apparently loosed during battles between the Vizjerai. These demons would attack the nomads during the night, slaughtering entire clans and disappearing without trace into the dunes.

"In desperation, the normally independent desert tribes turned to the elder of this city, begging him for help against the demons and the Vizjerai that unleashed them. The elder agreed to aid the desert dwellers, but at the cost of their independence. The desert clans would unite under his banner and follow him without question, or he would not help them in any way. Although the nomad chieftains were reluctant at best to give up their power and freedom, without the elder's help they would never survive the demonic assaults. The chieftains pledged their loyalty to the elder, and within weeks the elder was pushing the demons back into the hells that had spawned them.

"Soon after the elder had claimed control of the tribes, the nomad chieftains discovered that the elder was, in fact, the summoner that had brought the demons to Sanctuary, and worse, that he had purposely unleashed them on the desert clans to force them under his control. Enraged by the discovery, the chieftains turned their strength, now united, on the elder and his city. The battle took over a year, but at its end the city was razed and the elder entombed alive. With a final curse of eternal torment for the elder, the nomads buried the remnants of the city beneath the sands, and expunged the name of the city and its traitorous elder from their history. To even speak of the city, or of the elder, was considered a crime among the nomads."

"Well if that's the case, how do you know so much about this place?" Snowhammer asked. Wyszemir chuckled at the question.

"Do you really think that such a long, hard fought siege could simply be forgotten?" the necromancer inquired. "The names have been lost, true, but men still whispered of the Lost City and its Dark Elder late at night as their fires died out. And there have been stories, over the centuries, of some half mad traveler stumbling through the gates of Lut Gholein with a wild story of ruins that seemed to appear from nowhere, and of mummified zombies that have since become known as plague bearers, whose touch spreads a terrible rotting disease."

"Where did you learn so much about this city?" Xaviar asked, looking over to the necromancer.

"I was interested in the mummification rituals that could produce such a horrifying creation," Wyszemir replied, turning with a grin to Xaviar. The paladin turned back to the road, disgusted by what should have been a predictable answer. "Unfortunately, I could find no useful information on the creation of a plague bearer. The desert tribes made certain that knowledge was lost to time."

"Too bad," Snowhammer said sarcastically. Wyszemir chuckled slightly.

"Funny how your tone changes when there are others to hear you speak," the necromancer said, casting a meaningful glance back to Tara. "You seemed far more interested in necromancer before we woke our companions."

"I was simply wondering how you could justify your deeds to yourself," Snowhammer countered. Xaviar turned a concerned eye on the barbarian, easily picking up the hesitation in his companion's voice.

"I would not worry, paladin," Wyszemir said, regaining Xaviar's attention. "I doubt the boy will fall to my diabolic powers before we reach Lut Gholein."

"Pray that he doesn't," Xaviar warned, patting the head of Order Bar on his belt. "Because if he does, you'll answer to my scepter."

"Xaviar, I'm not going to become a necromancer," Snowhammer said, leaning forward slightly and patting the crusader on the shoulder. "I really was just curious about how he could justify raising the dead. I still don't think his reasons were good enough."

"Good," Xaviar said, settling down in his seat again.

"You are very uncompromising," Wyszemir noted, a smirk on his face. Xaviar groaned in disgust, turning away from the necromancer as he tried to ignore the necromancer's comments, but turned back the rear of the wagon as Stasya pushed her way between Snowhammer and Tara.

"Something's behind us," the assassin said quickly.

"What is it?" Xaviar demanded, ducking between the sorceress and barbarian as Stasya led him to the rear of the wagon. Wyszemir quickened the pace of the undead horses slightly, but the reanimated skeletons seemed to be incapable of anything more than a slow trot. As Xaviar reached the rear flaps, Stasya pushed the canvas aside and pointed into the darkness behind them.

"Two shapes, off to the right in those ruins," the assassin said, pointing to a crumbling pile of bricks behind them. "And to the left, something just took cover behind that broken statue."

"I don't see anything," Xaviar said, surprised by Stasya's sharp vision. What she had pointed out as a broken statue appeared to the paladin as nothing more than a lump of rock in the darkness.

"Trust me, they're behind us," Stasya assured the crusader. "Do we stop and fight them, or try to outrun them?"

"Keep watching them," Xaviar instructed. "If they get closer, we may have to fight them, but for now it would be better to get out of these ruins. If what Wyszemir says is true, this city is cursed."

"I could set some traps behind us," Stasya offered, turning with the paladin as he started back to the front of the wagon. Xaviar shook his head.

"Better not to draw attention yet," he decided. "Watch them, but don't do anything unless they try to attack us."

"Okay," Stasya said, sounding almost disappointed by the paladin's decision. Xaviar had only just turned to make his way back to the front of the wagon when it creaked to a halt.

"Xaviar?" Tara called back to the pair. Xaviar cast one last glance behind the wagon, then hurried back to the front.

"Why did we stop?" the paladin asked, glancing between Snowhammer and Tara.

"It would appear that some of the city's inhabitants wish to have words with us," Wyszemir replied simply, gesturing with the reins. Only a few yards ahead of the wagon, dim, four armed silhouettes emerged from between the remains of ancient homes and took up positions on the crumbling road, while more feline shapes darted along the edges of the ruins.

"Keep going," Xaviar said, pulling Order Bar free of his belt.

"I doubt they will let us pass without incident," Wyszemir pointed out, a hint of surprise in his eyes as he turned to the paladin.

"We either go through them, or they surround us here," Xaviar said. "We go through them. Tara, ready your spells. Clear the path ahead of us. Snowhammer, if they try to climb aboard, crush their skulls."

"Is is that the Dark Elder?" Tara asked, nervously preparing her spells.

"They are Marauders," Wyszemir corrected, watching the four armed shapes draw scimitars. "Cousins to the Sand Raiders that destroyed our caravan. The cat warriors are most likely Night Tigers. If the Dark Elder does exist, he is not here yet."

"Well let's not sit around here waiting for him," Snowhammer prompted, hefting his maul as he moved up behind Wyszemir. Wyszemir nodded, and snapped the reins to his undead horses.

"Clear the road, Tara," Xaviar instructed, gesturing with Order Bar to the demons blocking their path. "Everything you have."

Tara's first ice blast sent the demons into action. The Night Tigers and Marauders swarmed towards the wagon, illuminated in flashes of light from Stasya's charged bolt traps and incendiary bombs behind the wagon. The first Marauder to reach Xaviar's side of the wagon launched a vicious strike with its scimitars, but the paladin knocked the blades aside with his shield and shattered the demon's jaw with a sweeping, underhanded blow from Order Bar. On Snowhammer's side, the barbarian landed a bone crunching bash attack on the lead Night Tiger, driving its skull into its rib cage. Even driving the wagon, Wyszemir spat out guttural curses at the demons, amplifying the damage from his comrades' assaults. Through it all Tara threw off ice blast after ice blast at a frantic pace, trying to keep the demons from stopping their flight. Just behind the first wave, however, Xaviar could already see a new phalanx of Night Tigers, their arms drawn back to hurl a volley of bombs.

"They've got fire bombs!" Snowhammer shouted, pointing to the new threat even as he kicked a Marauder away from the side of the wagon. Tara threw out a new volley of ice, but only caught two of the feline warriors before they hurled their weapons. The glass globes shattered on impact with the wagon, but instead of fire a choking, greenish smoke billowed out over the vehicle. Tara fell back under the canvas flaps, wheezing for breath after one of the poisonous bombs shattered against her breastplate, while Snowhammer struggled to keep swinging his maul despite the toxins filling his lungs. Spluttering through his own spells, Wyszemir quickly made up for the sorceress' absence by conjuring four skeleton mages that added a fresh barrage of fire and lightning to the wagon's defense.

"Now would be the time for your cleansing prayers, paladin!" the necromancer coughed, turning to Xaviar. The crusader was already a step ahead of his comrade, shifting his mental focus from his defiance in order to overcome the poison even as he continued to hold off the demons trying to stop the wagon. Still reeling from the effects of the poison gas, Tara forced herself back into the fray, launching another volley of ice blasts directly ahead of the undead horses.

Suddenly the wagon was through, clearing the last of the demons as they converged on the beleaguered skeleton mages that Wyszemir had left behind. Stasya's traps spit out a last burst of electricity, illuminating the demons as they cursed at their fleeing opponents. One or two poison gas bombs exploded on the road behind them, but Wyszemir's undead horses were just fast enough to move them out of the blast radius.

"They're not chasing us!" Stasya called out from the rear of the wagon. Hanging on to the edge of the wagon and watching the dark shapes disappear into the night, Xaviar had no choice but to agree with the assassin's report. "They're giving up!"

"We did it!" Snowhammer yelled in triumph. The barbarian raised his maul over his head in victory. "Come back and we'll give you more of the same!"

Xaviar smiled slightly at his ally's bravado, but something about the assault began to bother him. As the paladin turned back to his seat next to Wyszemir, he almost felt as though the demons had let the group through

The wagon suddenly jolted to a stop, tipping forward before it toppled to the left. As Xaviar hit the ground, he could see ragged, decaying hands reaching out from the ground, yanking the cart onto its side or pulling their undead bodies out of the sand.

"It's a trap!" the paladin shouted. "To me! Form on me!"

Tara was first to respond to the summons, jumping to her feet and dodging through the rising mummies to Xaviar's side. Snowhammer slammed his maul down on one undead skull, then hurried to join his companions as Wyszemir pulled Stasya to her feet and helped her to the others. As the five travelers prepared to face the new ambush, Wyszemir turned to Tara with a faint smirk.

"You wanted to meet the Dark Elder," the necromancer said, pointing to a mummified body dressed in the rotting, grimy robes of an ancient priest as it slowly stood. Tara glanced from the death mage to the Plague Bearer as she took an unconscious step backward. "Now is your chance."


	10. The Dark Elder

****

XVII

"What do we do now?"

"Perhaps we could parley," Wyszemir suggested with a smirk, glancing over to Tara. The sorceress' eyes were already shining with fear, but the necromancer had no time or initiative to calm the young woman's nerves before the Plague Bearers reached them. Only a yard or so past the sorceress, Xaviar held his shield and scepter at the ready, waiting for the imminent attack as he gauged his party's chances of winning against the Dark Elder and its minions.

"Whatever we're going to do, I think we'd better do it soon," Stasya pointed out, gesturing with her _kris_ blade to the shapes moving in from the road. "The Marauders and Night Tigers are catching up to us!"

"This is going to get messy," Snowhammer remarked, hefting his maul as the counted the ever increasing number of Plague Bearers pulling themselves out of the sand.

"Stasya, try to slow the Marauders down," Xaviar ordered, gesturing with his scepter to the oncoming demons. Stasya turned a blank expression on the paladin, amazed that he would suggest she try to tackle the mass of Marauders and Night Tigers on her own. "No heroics, just hold them off for a few minutes before falling back to us."

"Are you out of your mind?" Stasya demanded. Xaviar shook his head.

"No, I'm ridiculously outnumbered," the paladin replied. "Just do what you can."

"What does he think I am, a miracle worker?" the assassin complained, looking to Wyszemir as Xaviar turned to meet the tide of undead.. The necromancer shrugged.

"Just do what you can, dear," Wyszemir said, barely paying attention to his companion. The necromancer's eyes were already focused on the Dark Elder and the twisted wand in its hand. Predictably, Xaviar and Snowhammer were both ready to meet the Plague Bearers head on, while Tara was preparing her ice spells to cover them. That left only Wyszemir and Stasya to cover the flank. "I'll lend you some skeletons, if you need them."

"Gee, thanks," Stasya muttered, turning back to her battle. Wyszemir absently nodded in assent, and started into his spells.

Without anyone to help her, Stasya would be in serious trouble. The necromancer watched as she drew and hurled two of her throwing knives, spitting out an amplify damage curse on the intended target even as the spinning blades burst into flames. The enchanted weapons struck their target just as the curse took effect, and the Night Tiger fell dead to the ground. Stasya was already throwing at her next target as Wyszemir pointed his wand to the corpse, drawing the bones from the fallen demon to create the first of his skeletal mages. A second Night Tiger fell to Stasya's throwing knives as Wyszemir's construct joined the fray, throwing off crackling balls of electricity at its former comrades. Stasya darted forward, into the shadows to take on the Night Tigers sneaking through the ruins and leaving a hole for the Marauders to exploit, but Wyszemir's blood golem rose from the ground before the four armed demons could exploit the breach. Wyszemir threw off one more amplify damage curse as the Marauders met up with his construct, then turned to the Plague Bearers attacking his other allies.

The Dark Elder was barely visible lurking at the edge of a ruined building, but Wyszemir found his target almost instantly despite the gloom. The necromancer began stalking forward intently, pausing only to bring a second skeleton mage to life to join him. Sensing the new threat, the Dark Elder turned to the death mage, its hollow eye sockets almost aglow with a sullen, sickly green light as it summoned more Plague Bearers to its side.

"Take him," the Dark Elder rasped, its harsh whisper carrying over the sounds of battle around them. Wyszemir smiled grimly as the Plague Bearers started forward to obey their liege's command.

The Plague Bearers moved with deceptive speed, but Wyszemir was still the faster. Yet another amplify damage curse fell on his enemies as they closed the distance, guiding the skeleton mage's fireballs in on their targets with devastating accuracy. Wyszemir followed the curse with his own bone spears, the ghostly lances tearing through three or four opponents at a time. Two Plague Bearers fell almost instantly under the onslaught, but Wyszemir was quick to add them to his own ranks as skeletal warriors armed with maces and round shields. Within moments half of the Dark Elder's entourage had been destroyed, and Wyszemir was swiftly strengthening his own small force of skeletons with the crumbling corpses of the Plague Bearers.

The Dark Elder took action then, jabbing forward with the wand in its hand at Wyszemir's lead skeletons. More bone spears tore through the ranks, but this time it was the Dark Elder's spells smashing Wyszemir's constructs. The necromancer worked quickly to raise more skeletons from the remains of the Plague Bearers, but the Dark Elder matched him bone spear for summoning. Within seconds the ground between the two was littered with the shattered, useless bones of the destroyed skeletons and Plague Bearers as the last of the constructs fell to the two necromancers' spells.

"Join me," the Dark Elder hissed out, its eyes locked onto the death mage. Slowly it pointed to Xaviar, locked in battle with a half dozen determined Plague Bearers. "They will destroy you as a heretic, as my people once did to me. Join me, necromancer. It is your only hope."

"You brought your curse upon yourself," Wyszemir pointed out, taking a step forward. The necromancer raised his bone shield slightly, poised for a renewed attack.

"You want to acquire the knowledge of the Plague Bearers," the Dark Elder continued.   
"Join me, and destroy the humans. In return, I will teach you the lore you desire."

"I can simply destroy you, and pry the knowledge from your spirit," Wyszemir countered, a faint smirk coming to his face. The Dark Elder's rotting face twisted into a horrid sneer.

"Then you shall die!" the undead lord spat, its harsh voice cutting through Wyszemir's mind with a curse of terror. The necromancer struggled to keep his fear in check under the weight of the spell, but the moment of hesitation was all the time the Dark Elder needed. Wyszemir threw off the terror curse just as the ruins around the elder disappeared into an inky, unnatural darkness from a dim vision curse, but the death mage could not take time to try and reverse the spell as the first ghostly bone spear shot through the gloom. Wyszemir managed to turn his shield into the blast before it hit him, deflecting the worst of the magical missile, but within moments the Dark Elder had launched a full barrage against his foe. Wyszemir stumbled to one knee as his bone shield began to splinter under the onslaught, wincing in pain as the bone spears tore across the shoulders of his chain mail or ripped lines of blood across his legs. With a final effort the necromancer shoved himself back to his feet and cast a volley of teeth to buy himself some time, but as the unnatural darkness ended the necromancer found the Dark Elder bearing down on him, its clawed hands ready to tear him limb from limb.

Wyszemir twisted out of the way at the last moment, giving up his battered shield to the Dark Elder's grasp as he tumbled wide of the Plague Bearer's claws. The necromancer rolled up to one knee, ignoring the pain of his injuries, just in time to launch a bone spear into the Dark Elder's chest at point blank range. The Dark Elder stumbled backwards as the ethereal bolt tore through him, giving Wyszemir the moment he needed to regain his footing and cast another amplify damage curse on his foe. The Dark Elder righted itself just in time to receive two more bone spears from the necromancer, driving it back to the crumbling wall of the ruins behind it. As the undead lord struggled to regain its balance against the wall, Wyszemir rushed forward, pinning the Plague Bearer to the wall with his broken shield. The two necromancers locked stern gazes with each other as Wyszemir drew his wand back, ready to summon another bone spear to finish the job.

"Who is the better death mage now?" Wyszemir inquired, glaring into the glowing eye sockets of the trapped demon. The Dark Elder spat out a curse in its long forgotten native tongue, but it could do little more as Wyszemir loosed his next bone spear down the undead monster's throat. As the bone spear tore through the Dark Elder, its body crumbled to dust, leaving nothing other than the wand it had used to defend itself. Slowly the necromancer knelt to pick up the weapon, running one hand gingerly along the smooth yew shaft. "Dust to dust, Dark Elder."

________________________________________________________________

If there had been time to complain, or someone to complain to, she would have done so with extremely colorful language.

Stasya hurried through the long gutted shell of another ruined house, dodging through the shadows in a lethal game of cat and mouse with the Night Tigers that pursued her. Wyszemir and the other had long since disappeared into the darkness, but the assassin had no time to worry about the fate of her companions as she eluded her nearly silent pursuers through the maze of ruins and the near total darkness. Wsyzemir's blood golem had stolen the Marauders' attention for only so long, but the spindly, four armed demons were already joining their feline allies in the hunt for the assassin as they stormed the ruins in loud contrast to the Night Tigers. With the sounds of a group of Marauders off to her left, Stasya moved quickly to her right as she tried to avoid the larger groups of demons.

Three Night Tigers met the assassin as she rounded the corner of the building. Both Stasya and the Night Tigers froze as they met, each one surprised to find the other there, but the shock lasted for only a moment before the four combatants exploded into action.

The Night Tigers drew their globes of choking gas and hurled them as quickly as they could, but Stasya was already moving. The assassin ducked under the volley and came up slashing, her poisonous _kris_ blade tearing through the throat of the first cat warrior before it could react to the speedy fighter. Stasya never even waited for her first victim to hit the ground before she was on the move again, using the falling corpse as a ramp to leap over the second Night Tiger and attack the third. The last feline tried to draw the saber belted to its waist, but the second it needed to pull the blade from its sheath was more time than Stasya required to drive her _kris_ through the bottom of the cat warrior's throat until the tip of the knife exploded through the top of the skull. The second Night Tiger turned on the assassin just as Stasya whirled back on it, driving the feline back and shattering its ribs with an explosive dragon tail kick. 

The battle had taken only a few seconds, but the dying screams of the Night Tigers and the acrid smoke of the choking gas immediately notified the other demons of her presence. Stasya sprinted back into the ruins in search of a new place to hide, racing into the remains of what might have been a large temple at one time. The assassin hurried past the pillars and through the ruined, arched doorway, stopping just inside a huge, roofless chamber. At the other end of the flagstone floor were more than a dozen Marauders, their fanged mouths stretched into twisted grins as they raised their scimitars. Stasya turned back to the door just in time to see a pack of Night Tigers appear from the darkness, growling in anticipation of the kill. Stasya glanced around the hall quickly, searching for another route of escape, but her last option was to try climbing over the walls.

"So you are one of the children who defeated Steeltooth," one of the Marauders said, a amused tone in its almost noble voice. Stasya turned back to the four armed demons as a particularly tall Marauder stepped forward, carrying a beautiful silver scimitar in one of its hands. "How is it that he was you defeated him? You hardly seem threatening, little one."

"I'm full of surprises," Stasya answered, putting on a brave show in the face of the Marauder chieftain. The demon smiled at the bravado, displaying its huge canines.

"You may be, but you have not yet faced Icewight the Hunter," the Marauder said, still amused with the situation. The Marauder gestured casually to the assassin with its scimitar, signaling the end of the conversation. "Kill her."

The Night Tigers and Marauders both leapt to obey their liege's command, but before a single gas bomb could land Stasya had already acted. The dark hall was suddenly filled with flashes of brilliant light as the assassin dodged out of the way of the felines' bombs, leaving a trio of charged bolt traps in her place. The Night Tigers dropped back, recoiling from the electrical strikes, but the Marauders were already coming within striking distance as Stasya dropped back to one wall. With the Night Tigers still blocking the entrance and the Marauders so close to her, Stasya forgot about her ideas of escape and instead focused on her enemies.

The first Marauder lunged in almost carelessly, leaving its side exposed as it tried to finish the assassin with a single heavy chop. Stasya ducked low under the attack, driving forward with all her momentum and tearing a deep gash along the demon's exposed chest. As that Marauder tumbled forward, the assassin threw out a blade sentinel to her right, blocking off one flank as she turned to the demons on her left. The demons tried to circle her and pin her against the wall, but Stasya saw the ploy immediately and ducked between two of the Marauders, accepting a glancing slash to her shoulder to escape the ring.

Icewight was on her suddenly, moving with unnerving speed as he brought his scimitar down on her. Stasya threw up her buckler quickly to deflect the blow, but the Marauder chieftain's scimitar slammed into her shield with enough force to fold it along the edge of impact. The assassin scrambled away quickly as the demon rushed forward, trying to buy time with another trio of charged bolt traps. The devices sparked to life as the Marauders closed on her again, forcing Icewight's minions to take cover behind the fallen pillars and heaps of broken stone to avoid the arcs of electricity. Three of the charged bolts slammed into Icewight as it stalked forward, but the demon chief's only reaction was a cruel smile as the electricity crackled harmlessly along his body.

With the other demons distracted, Stasya took the moment of opportunity and lunged forward, her _kris_ blade leading the way. Still gloating over her traps' ineffectiveness against it, Icewight was almost take off guard by the sudden, furious assault. The demon chieftain fell back as Stasya pounded furiously against the Marauder's defenses, praying that she would be able to end the battle before her charged bolt traps fizzled and died. The assassin drove low first, forcing Icewight to parry a number of attacks against its legs and lower chest, then used one of the broken pillars across the floor to spring up for an attack at the Marauder's face. Unprepared for the assassin's acrobatic fighting style, Icewight could not bring his scimitar in line in time, and the assassin rolled off the demon's side after scoring a long slash to its shoulder and chest. Icewight roared in pain as the poison from Stasya's _kris_ penetrated its skin, but the Marauder became nothing if not more brutal. Almost as quickly as she had gained the upper hand, Stasya was again on the defensive, trying to use what was left of her buckler to fend off Icewight's scimitar. With every blow the Marauder's blade threw off a shower of ice and frost, chilling the assassin to the bone as she tried to sneak in the killing blow. Already two of her charged bolt traps had broken down, and within seconds the Night Tigers and Marauders would both rejoin the battle.

Stasya dove forward with no time to lose, forcing her way under the Marauder's defenses before he could launch an effective counter. Icewight's blade tore through the back of her ring mail and carved into her back, but the assassin's _kris_ sank into the demon's chest to the hilt. Icewight roared in pain as Stasya hit home, stumbling backward and slashing wildly at the young woman to hold her back. Stasya lost her _kris_ as her opponent backed away with it still lodged in his chest, but it mattered little to the assassin as she turned on the remaining Night Tigers and Marauders. Once again she threw her charged bolt traps into the middle of the already injured demons, killing them or sending them scrambling for cover. With the lesser monsters taken care of by her traps, Stasya turned back on Icewight as the chieftain yanked her blade free of his stomach with a cry of pain.

"Now I have faced Icewight the Hunter," Stasya commented, taking a step towards the demon as her charged bolt traps lit up the ruins. "And I must say, I'm not impressed. Steeltooth was more of a challenge than you."

"Then let us finish the dance," Icewight challenged, holding his scimitar in front of him as he dropped back into a defensive stance. Despite the inky blood flowing from the deep gash in his chest, the Marauder chieftain took a bold step forward. Stasya glanced past him, searching for a route to her discarded _kris_, but the demon was directly in her path. "Come get me, little girl. Or perhaps your bold words merely mask your fear?"

"You're in a hurry to die," Stasya said, trying to get the chieftain to circle with her. The demon seemed to sense her ploy, however, and instead of circling out of the path of her _kris_, Icewight merely turned in place.

"I think you overestimate your chances," Icewight taunted, raising his blade. With supernatural speed, the demon rushed forward, his scimitar tearing through the air in an icy arc.

Stasya abandoned any hope of retrieving her blade as the demon hurtled forward, instead relying on her martial training to finish the job. The assassin darted forward to meet Icewight, dropping low at the last moment to avoid the demon's sweeping blade. The frost covered blade froze the very tips of her hair as it whistled over her, but the assassin paid the sudden cold on her scalp as she blasted forward with a devastating dragon kick to the chieftain's already wounded gut. 

Icewight the Hunter fell back with a final howl, but the scream lasted for only a second before the chieftain's body exploded into a fierce frost nova. Caught off guard by the demon's icy demise, Stasya was hurled backward, falling flat on her back and blasting the wind from her lungs. Numbed to the bone by the explosion, the assassin nonetheless scrambled to her feet on the icy flagstones, fumbling for her throwing knives as she noted movement near the door. Stasya dropped back into a crouch, ready to hurl another of her flaming knives, when she saw Snowhammer burst through the doorway with his maul in hand.

"Need help?" the barbarian asked, appraising the ice covered assassin.

"I think I got it," Stasya replied simply.

"Great," Snowhammer said. "We're just finishing up outside. See you out there."

Stasya watched Snowhammer disappear back through the doorway, then turned back to the frozen, tattered remnants of Icewight's body. Taking a few careful steps across the rime of ice covering the floor, the assassin knelt carefully next to the demon's remains and pulled the beautiful, untouched scimitar from one petrified hand.

"I don't think you'll be needing this any more," Stasya said as she tucked the silvery blade into her belt. The young woman scanned the slain demons quickly for any other treasure, then swiftly made her way back to the rest of her companions outside.

****

XVIII

"I think we're lost."

"I thought we were already lost," Snowhammer said, looking back to Stasya as Xaviar stopped on top of a low dune to appraise their course. The pair had rested for only a few hours where the Dark Elder had fallen before resuming their journey, but the road that they had followed with the wagon soon disappeared beneath the sands. Without the road to follow, the party could only hope that they maintained their eastward course in the darkness. "It would help if the sun would finally come out. How long are eclipses supposed to last?"

"A day, or so," Tara answered quietly. The sorceress hesitated for a moment as she looked up to the dark sky. "At least, that was what I thought."

"It would appear to be day again, if that dull glow in the sky is any indication," Wyszemir observed, gesturing to a sullen red patch in the otherwise ebon sky. "It may be possible that this eclipse is not natural."

"So what do we do?" Snowhammer asked, looking to Xaviar as the paladin turned to his companions. "Do we wait for the eclipse to end, or do we hope that we're walking in the right direction?"

"We can't just sit here and wait for whatever else is lurking in these ruins to find us," Xaviar surmised. "We keep moving, using that glow as our reference point. If it is the sun, then that's east, and we should find the coast if not Lut Gholein itself."

"And what if it isn't?" Stasya inquired. Xaviar scowled at the assassin.

"If you have a better idea, I'm open to it," the paladin said simply.

"Now now," Wyszemir said, placing a hand on Stasya's shoulder to calm the young woman. "For once, I must agree with the crusader. Although, if we do not find our way out of this city, I have noticed a number of cozy homes along our journey."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Snowhammer said, trying unsuccessfully to hold down a smirk. "Between you and the Plague Bearers, the neighborhood would be rather dead."

"Ah, camaraderie," Wyszemir noted, turning to Xaviar with a broad grin. "Perhaps I will corrupt the boy, after all."

Xaviar glared at the necromancer for a moment, but turned and started again on the trail without another word. Tara turned to Snowhammer, almost stunned by his comment.

"What?" the barbarian asked, returning Tara's gaze with a confused expression. "It was a joke."

"Oh," Tara said. Without another word she started after the paladin, casting one last, unreadable glance over her shoulder at the north man. As Snowhammer watched her start off, Stasya came to his side with a faint giggle.

"You're one of us now," the assassin said with an impish grin. "Now she'll never speak to you, either."

"You stay out of it," Snowhammer snapped, barely looking to Stasya as he hurried after the sorceress. Coming to her side, Wyszemir chuckled slightly as he watched the barbarian go.

"I think you may have hurt his feelings, dear," the necromancer remarked. Stasya turned back to him, ready to vent about the rest of the party to her only true ally, but something in the distance stopped her. The assassin stared intently into the darkness for a long moment, straining her eyes to see through the unnatural night. Seeing her concern, Wyszemir also turned to look behind, but the necromancer could make out nothing unusual. "Is something wrong?" the death mage inquired.

"Quiet," Stasya said curtly, waving one hand impatiently at the necromancer. In the distance, a low, constant rumble seemed to come to her ears, while the darkness seemed to grow even more opaque.

"Are you two coming, or what?" Snowhammer called out, standing on top of a low dune ahead of them. Stasya ignored the barbarian as she took a step towards the distant rumbling.

"You hear that?" the assassin asked Wyszemir, her eyes glued to the horizon.

"Yes," the necromancer replied, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Like distant thunder."

"What's wrong?" Xaviar called, joining Snowhammer on the dune. Stasya's eyes narrowed to slits as she studied what seemed to be a cloud moving extremely close to the ground…

"Sandstorm!" the assassin suddenly exclaimed, turning and rushing away from the incoming storm. Wyszemir raced along behind her, struggling to keep up through the sand. Xaviar's eyes widened for a moment in shock, but then he grabbed Snowhammer by the collar of his scale mail and dragged the barbarian along behind him.

"It's only a storm," Snowhammer complained, trying to keep up with the fleeing group as they reached Tara. Already catching up to the barbarian, Wyszemir turned a cold grin on him.

"It's only a storm that can flay the skin from your bones, boy!" the necromancer corrected. He barely waited for Snowhammer's reaction as he turned to Xaviar. "We'll need cover, quickly!"

"There!" Stasya exclaimed, pointing to a stone portal that lay partially buried in the sand. In front of the entrance, a small stone tower stood silent vigil over the site, already growing lost in the dunes. "We can hide there until the storm passes!"

"Xaviar, I don't think-" Tara started.

"It's that or die in the storm," Xaviar cut in, taking the mage's hand. The small band hurried across the rocky dunes in the direction of the stone portal, already feeling a steady wind growing at their backs.

The top half of the tower suddenly rotated, pointing an odd, ebon cylinder at the group. Stasya's eyes went wide as she saw the contraption, but the assassin had no time to warn her companions before a brilliant ball of fire exploded from the cylinder. Xaviar shoved Tara out of the way as the fireball raced toward them, but the paladin was only a heartbeat too slow to avoid the projectile himself. The flames smashed into Xaviar's crown shield with a deafening roar, throwing the crusader back into the sand in the fiery explosion.

"Xaviar!" Tara exclaimed, seeing the paladin staggering back to one knee. The tower began to rotate again as the sorceress took a step toward her fallen companion, launching another shot at the young woman. Tara dropped into the sand, desperate to avoid the flames, but the incendiary projectile tore along her back and burned her even through her breastplate.

"I'm going for it!" Snowhammer shouted, charging forward through the sand. The barbarian rushed headlong at the tower as it turned to fire at him, but Snowhammer was ready for the shot. As the gout of flames left the cylinder, the barbarian leapt into the air with a mighty shout, vaulting the flames and raising his maul over his head for a powerful strike of his own. The north man slammed down into the tower with all his might, snapping the ebon cylinder from the structure and gouging a chunk of rock from the rotating top. Snowhammer landed on the ground with a short roll, trying to get out of the way in case the construct exploded into flames. As he dropped back, the barbarian noted to his dismay that there were more cylinders attached to the tower, and one was pointing directly at him.

Snowhammer fell backwards as a fireball hit him square in the chest, but the barbarian had barely hit the ground before Wyszemir's bone spears and Tara's ice blasts were tearing through the tower. Back on his feet, Xaviar charged in on the structure as well, focusing his zeal into a brutal series of strikes against the base of the tower. Unable to bear the combined assault, the top half of the tower broke in two and fell from its perch, disabling the ancient trap.

"Snowhammer?" Xaviar called, rushing to the barbarian's side. Snowhammer pushed himself to a sitting position, staring for a moment at the scorched front of his once pristine scale mail.

"Now it looks used," the barbarian said with a weak smile. Xaviar could not help but grin at the barbarian's remark.

"Come on," the paladin said, helping the north man to his feet. Already the others were hurrying inside the stone entranceway, Tara stopping in the doorway as she turned to her two friends.

"Hurry up!" the sorceress exclaimed, her hair already whipping about her in the stiff winds. Xaviar got Snowhammer to his feet, but the north man needed no further prompting to hurry into the cover of the old portal. The two stumbled down a few worn steps and into an ancient, underground foyer of some kind, joining the others in the feeble light of Stasya's shining gem and a simple electricity spell arcing on the tip of Tara's staff.

"Where are we?" Stasya asked as Xaviar and Snowhammer rejoined their allies.

"It looks like… a tomb, maybe," Tara said quietly, gazing intently at the ancient symbols carved into the walls. Outside the sandstorm rapidly descended on the ancient burial site, forcing the group even further into the inky darkness of the subterranean chambers. "Maybe… maybe this was the Dark Elder's tomb."

"Let's stay as close to the surface as possible," Xaviar decided, watching the dark passages uneasily. "With all that's happened and where we are, we might not be the only things down here."

"How long do you think we'll have to stay down here?" Stasya asked, one eye on Wyszemir as the necromancer began to pore over the ancient glyphs carved into the walls.

"Perhaps a day, perhaps more," Wyszemir answered, turning away from an ornate relief of a serpentine creature. "I suspect, however, that the sooner we leave here, the better."

"Yeah, so we can stumble around in the desert again," Snowhammer grumbled. "If I never see sand again, it'll be too soon."

"With any luck, the eclipse will be over by the time the storm ends," Xaviar said, dropping down against one of the walls and resting his shield on the ground next to him. "In the meantime, we might as well rest while we can."

"Claw Vipers," Wyszemir said abruptly, studying a section of the wall at the very edge of the group's light. As the others turned to him, Wyszemir smiled faintly. "Your assumption that this is a tomb is only partially correct," then necromancer explained. "At one time, this was used as a burial chamber, but these snake reliefs are a clear sign of newer habitation. We have just stumbled into a nest of Claw Vipers."


	11. Banishing Darkness

****

XIX

"Do you hear something?"

"The wind," Tara grumbled, barely lifting her eyes from the dimly glowing jewel set in the center of the passage as she answered the question. Sitting opposite the young sorceress, Stasya continued to glance down the narrow passage the small band occupied, a hint of anxiety in her dark eyes. Hearing the sorceress' answer, Stasya turned back to the only other member of the band that was awake.

"You really don't like me," the assassin concluded. Tara nodded curtly. "Why is that?"

"Do you really need to ask?" Tara asked in reply. "You're an assassin!"

"And what's wrong with assassins?" Stasya inquired, acting indignant despite the amused smile tugging at her lips.

"You kill people for money!" Tara exclaimed, dumbfounded that Stasya would even ask such a question.

"Well, most of them deserve it," Stasya said, her smirk growing ever so slightly. Tara's eyes shot wide with shock and outrage. Before she could speak, however, the assassin put a finger to her lips. "Don't wake the others," Stasya warned, lowering her own voice. "I do what has to be done. Your order created us to kill corrupted mages."

"That doesn't change that fact that you're a cold blooded killer!" the sorceress finally said, keeping her voice as low as possible despite her obvious revulsion. "If I offered you enough, you'd probably kill Xaviar!"

"Probably," Stasya agreed, shrugging her shoulders. Tara's eyes grew even larger, but the assassin continued before she could speak. "He's probably not quite so noble as you think."

"He… you… he's a paladin!" Tara stammered out. 

"He's no innocent," Stasya countered. "He has blood on his hands, and not all of that blood is demonic, I'd wager. Just because someone blindly follows their faith, doesn't mean they've always done what is right. I've seen paladins whose hearts are blacker than the foulest summoner."

"I doubt that," Tara countered, her voice clearly indicating her mistrust of the assassin's words.

"Fanaticism breeds hatred," Stasya said simply. "And a paladin is a fanatic. I see that fanaticism every time I see Xaviar's eyes. Only a fanatic would march us across the desert as he did."

"He is a good man," Tara argued, jumping to the defense of the sleeping paladin's name.

"And good men can be corrupted," Stasya finished. Tara turned an icy glare on the assassin.

"You would know about corrupting people," the sorceress said coldly. Stasya merely smiled across the passageway at her companion before turning back to peer down the dark corridor.

"Are you sure you don't hear anything?" Stasya asked again. 

"Outside of you and the wind, no," Tara answered, a clear tone of anger lingering in her voice. Despite the almost confrontational reply, the assassin ignored Tara's remark as she slowly pushed herself to her feet against the wall. Stasya's hand dropped to the hilt of her _kris_ as she took a single, cautious step away from the jewel's tiny circle of light.

"A kind of moaning," the assassin said, her voice dropping almost to a whisper as she slid her _kris_ free of its sheath. Stasya glanced quickly over her shoulder, trying to locate her buckler for a split second before realizing that it had been destroyed in the battle with Icewight. Seeing her apprehension, Tara also began to stand, holding her staff defensively in front of her as she tried to locate what the assassin heard.

"Xaviar?" Tara prompted, nudging the sleeping paladin with the tip of her staff. Stasya heard Xaviar wake with a start, but the assassin ignored him as she crept forward to the edge of the jewel's light. Somewhere in the murky darkness, the young woman was certain that she could see something moving toward her. Without wasting any more time, Stasya tossed another of her charged bolt traps down the passage.

The charged bolt trap had barely touched the ground when it began throwing off crackling arcs of electricity, illuminating in brilliant flashes a ghastly troop of mummified corpses shambling toward the band of travelers. Tara gasped in horror and revulsion at the revealed undead, taking an unconscious step backward as she called her frozen armor into existence around her. Xaviar immediately stepped forward to meet the challenge, moving past Snowhammer as the north man woke to the sounds of crackling electricity ripping through the corridor. Wyszemir rose to his feet as well, but by the time the necromancer had summoned his blood golem to his side, the charged bolt traps had felled more than half of the embalmed corpses in the narrow confines of the passage, filling the hall with a stinking haze of greenish vapor.

One by one, however, the Embalmed stumbled back to their feet.

"Uh, Wyszemir?" Stasya inquired, glancing back over her shoulder to the necromancer.

"Fascinating," the death mage said, ignoring the assassin as he took a step forward. "Regenerative capabilities the likes of which I have never seen."

"Then we kill them again," Snowhammer stated, raising his maul and pushing forward.

"Snowhammer, wait!" Xaviar shouted, trying to grab the north man's armor as he raced past. The barbarian paid his companion no heed as he barreled through the first of the Embalmed, his maul smashing through the brittle skull of the lead undead and releasing even more of the putrid miasma into the air. Even as his first foe tumbled to the ground, Snowhammer staggered backward a step, choking on the poisonous fumes filling the passage.

"Snowhammer, get back here!" Tara exclaimed, her eyes wide with fear. The barbarian turned back to the group, his eyes filling with tears as the gas threatened to blind him, but three of the Embalmed lumbered after him, clawing at his armor and trying to drag him back into the cloud. Stasya hurled another pair of charged bolt traps into the mass of undead, while Xaviar and Wyszemir's blood golem rushed forward to join the fray. Tara joined in the action an instant later, her ice blasts tearing through the front rank of the Embalmed in her desperation to save Snowhammer. Stasya threw one more trap to the ground in front of her, then turned to the mysteriously idle Wyszemir.

"Why don't you cast a curse or raise a skeleton?" the assassin demanded, dropping back a step as one of the Embalmed lurched past Xaviar's scepter at the young woman. Wyszemir hurled a single bone spear through the undead, but the necromancer seemed far more intent on staring into the darkness past the brawl than helping any of his companions.

"There," the death mage said, almost to himself. Stasya dropped under a ponderous swing from the Embalmed, then launched herself forward in a powerful kick that sent the mummified attacker back into Xaviar's swiftly descending scepter.

"There what?" Stasya demanded, hazarding a glance over her shoulder.

"Beyond the Embalmed is a Guardian," Wyszemir explained, speaking as though the battle was something he was not even involved in. "He is the one resurrecting the Embalmed to continue their assault. Until he is destroyed, we will face the same foes repeatedly."

"What are you talking about?" Stasya asked urgently.

"Can you make it past the Embalmed, dear?" Wyszemir inquired. Stasya nodded, still not comprehending her ally's strange behavior. "Excellent. Follow my bone spears, and you will find the one we need to destroy. Good luck."

Perplexed by the command, Stasya nonetheless set off for her unseen target in a full sprint. Wyszemir threw a single curse on the demons ahead of her, then fired off a volley of the ghostly, luminescent bone spears to clear the assassin's path. Ducking under one outstretched arm and nearly catching Snowhammer's maul in the face, Stasya fought her way through the disgusting undead and the choking gas, finally coming up against the enemy that Wyszemir had somehow notice from across the chamber.

Stasya had originally thought the silhouette was simply another Embalmed, but up close she found her assumption to be far from the truth. Nearly as tall as the Marauders from the Lost City, the thing she now faced was a gaunt, decaying monstrosity with some kind of jackal-like head and a once beautiful collar of gold and bone. The thing turned to her as she hesitated in front of it, hissing as it opened its mouth. Belatedly realizing her mistake in pausing, Stasya hurled herself forward, her poisonous _kris_ leading the way as she aimed for where she thought a heart might be.

She nearly made it.

The hissing Guardian belched out a thick cloud of poisonous gas, stopping the assassin before she could finish her assault. Retching on the putrid smoke and clawing at her eyes, Stasya tumbled back a step before renewing her assault, locating the Guardian by sound as she clenched her eyes shut. The monstrosity landed one vicious claw strike along her side, but the assassin somehow found her way through the Guardian's defenses and slashed once, then twice through the undead thing's chest. The Guardian let out a sharp hiss of pain, giving Stasya all the target she needed. With a single lightning motion the assassin jabbed upward with her _kris_, impaling the Guardian's head through the bottom of the mouth and then ripping the backed out through the monster's face. Stasya dropped to her knees even as the Guardian collapsed beside her, still wiping at her stinging eyes as she tried to blink away her blindness. Within moments she could feel Xaviar's cleansing aura wash over her, rapidly expelling the poison from her body.

"What is that thing?" Xaviar demanded, pointing to the monstrous body lying next to the assassin as he reached her side. Wyszemir joined him a moment later, acting far less concerned by the combatants that they had just faced.

"That," the necromancer said, gesturing to the body, "is a Guardian. A perversion of ancient Horadric funereal rites to create undead protectors of tombs. I should have guessed that the demonic influence corrupting Sanctuary would play havoc on such ancient magics."

"It's… Horadric?" Tara repeated as she and Snowhammer joined the rest of the group. Wyszemir turned to the young sorceress with a faint smirk.

"Perhaps your order is not without its faults, after all," the necromancer suggested. Tara turned an angry glare on the gaunt man, but Snowhammer stepped between the two before she could say anything.

"But this is the only one in this tomb, right?" the barbarian concluded, glancing back at the destroyed corpses behind the group.

"It is possible that they only used one or two Guardians to protect this site," Wyszemir said, shrugging. "Or perhaps they created as many as a dozen, or even more, depending on the importance of the man buried in this tomb."

"Let's assume the worst, then," Xaviar decided, helping Stasya to her feet. The assassin nodded her thanks, but she froze as she stared past the group.

"I don't think we need to assume any more," she said, pointing with her _kris_ to the Embalmed. More of the undead were plodding towards them from the other direction, joining their fallen comrades as another Guardian raised the smashed bodies to attack again. Barely visible behind the growing troop, two of the monstrosities worked in concert to raise the mummified remains.

"Knocking them down won't be the problem," Snowhammer said, lifting his maul in readiness to meet the horde of undead. "Keeping them down will be."

"Can we take that many?" Tara asked, dropping back a step behind Xaviar. The paladin looked back over his shoulder, then shook his head.

"Stasya, drop some traps," Xaviar directed. "If we keep dropping back, we might be able to take them on a few at a time., and separate them from those Guardians."

"No argument from me," Stasya said, stepping in front of the paladin. As the others dropped back, the assassin quickly dropped three charged bolt traps across the width of the passage. The traps sparked to life instantly, zapping through the undead, even as Tara unleashed a quick volley of ice blasts on the Embalmed. Almost as quickly as the undead fell, however, the Guardians restored them to unlife to continue the assault.

"Let's go! Now!" Xaviar ordered, leading the group back through the passage. Stasya dropped one last charged bolt trap to the ground, then hurried to keep up with her companions.

________________________________________________________________

"Did we lose them?"

"Quiet," Stasya hissed, waving over her shoulder as she listened to the dark tunnels. Crouched almost immediately behind her, Snowhammer continued to peer into the murky tunnels, hoping that they had finally lost the Embalmed and the Guardians that continued to raise them. A few feet further down the passage behind the two scouts, Xaviar, Wyszemir, and Tara waited silently, along with three skeleton mages and the necromancer's ponderous blood golem. To the barbarian, it had felt like hours since they had first begun their running battle with the Embalmed and Guardians, but now it seemed as though the tiny band had finally lost their enemies for the moment. Now, with almost no light to see by and thoroughly lost within the corridors of the ancient tomb, Snowhammer could only hope that their decaying foes had finally given up their pursuit.

"We should not linger in one place for too long," Wyszemir suggested, his face illuminated in the stark light of the electricity crackling around one skeleton mage's hands. "They discovered us earlier because we tarried far too long by our entrance."

"But which way do we go?" Snowhammer asked, leaning on his maul as he turned back to the death mage. Wyszemir shrugged.

"It would likely not be wise to head back in the direction of our pursuers," the necromancer commented.

"But we can't go any further this way," Tara called out suddenly, keeping her voice as low as possible. "This is a dead end!"

"No, it's not," Xaviar countered, pointing with his scepter to the wall across from him. Snowhammer peered into the gloom, but could make out nothing until Wyszemir's skeleton mage moved closer. "Steps, leading down."

"Another level?" Snowhammer asked, moving back to the main group as Stasya continued her watch. "Do you think it's safe to go down?"

"Remember what happened last time we went underground," Stasya whispered back over her shoulder.

"We got separated last time," Xaviar pointed out. "This time, we'll be together."

"As long as no one runs off," Wyszemir finished. Tara turned a cold glare on the necromancer, but Stasya held up a hand for silence before anyone could form a retort for the death mage's thinly veiled insult. For a long moment the passage remained deathly silent, until a low moan broke the stillness of the tomb.

"They found us again," Stasya reported, already preparing another series of charged bolt traps for their enemies. "Do we stand and fight now?"

"We lead them down the stairs," Xaviar said. "Stasya, hide at the foot of the steps. When the Embalmed pass you by, you'll have a good shot at the Guardians."

"I always get the fun jobs," Stasya grumbled, dropping back a step and placing another trap on the ground.

"You're the assassin," Snowhammer observed with a smirk. Stasya turned a thoroughly false smile on the barbarian, then hurried past him to lead the way down the ancient staircase. As the assassin hurried past him to take her position, Snowhammer turned back to the steadily approaching Embalmed. Within seconds, Stasya's traps were throwing off arcs of electricity at the undead, catching them in a field of crackling charged bolts.

"Snowhammer! Come on!" Xaviar shouted, standing at the top of the steps. The barbarian hesitated for a moment longer, then turned and rushed down the steps behind the paladin as the traps gave off a last spark and crumbled. With the moans of the Embalmed already growing louder behind them, Snowhammer nearly barreled through his companions as Stasya tried to push her way back up the stairs. The north man tried to stop in time, but his momentum was more than enough to shove his companions off the bottom step and into the chamber beyond.

"Back up the steps!" Stasya ordered furiously, already trying to push her way through the pileup on the staircase.

"They're right behind us!" Snowhammer objected.

"They're right in front of us too!" Stasya countered. Snowhammer turned a puzzled expression on the assassin, but it last for only a moment as he saw the chamber beyond them. Over two dozen huge snakes, their tails tipped by wicked stingers and sporting arms ending in huge hands with talons as long as daggers, looked up in surprise from some sort of rite being conducted around an ancient stone altar set in the middle of a raised dais and surrounded by ruined columns.

"Have I mentioned already that Claw Vipers might be using this tomb as a nest?" Wyszemir inquired nonchalantly. The largest of the Claw Vipers, its scales a shimmering vermilion, slithered forward, faint pulses of electricity crackling across its scales. The demonic being appraised the tiny band of humans for a moment, its serpentine eyes brimming with hatred, before issuing a single command in its sibilant voice.

"Kill them."

****

XX

Ahead of them, they faced over two dozen Claw Vipers. Behind them, scores of Embalmed and the Guardians that continued to raise them.

"What do we do now?" Tara asked fearfully, close enough to Xaviar for the paladin to feel the waves of cold radiating from her frozen armor. Already Wyszemir's blood golem and skeletal mages were lumbering forward to meet the Claw Vipers' vanguard in combat, while the living members of the party quickly glanced from the serpents to the Embalmed descending the steps.

"We stick to the plan," Xaviar directed, raising his crown shield and starting forward. "Stasya hides and waits for a shot at the Guardians, while we draw the Embalmed into the chamber."

"What about the Claw Vipers?" Tara asked.

"We go through them," Xaviar replied simply. Snowhammer nodded in agreement, eager to join the battle.

The paladin charged forward without another word, charging into combat even as Snowhammer vaulted over the front line of serpents in a powerful leap attack. The paladin slammed one Claw Viper out of the way with his shield as he hit the line, knocking that one aside even as he slammed down with Order Bar on a second serpent's skull. A third moved into its companions' place, lashing out with its tail at the perceived opening in the crusader's defenses, but Xaviar swung his shield back into position in time to deflect the monstrous stinger aiming for his chest. As the paladin slammed his scepter into his attacker's ribs, crushing the Claw Viper's chest, Tara held off the next of the monstrous serpents with a brutal volley of ice blasts. Wyszemir likewise added his own mystical attacks to the melee, alternately cursing the vipers and tearing through two and three at a time with his ghostly bone spears.

A sudden burst of electricity crackled out across the ritual chamber, exploding into sparks against the walls and pillars. At first Xaviar thought that Stasya had activated another of her charged bolt traps, but a sudden jolt of electricity that crashed directly into his splint mail quickly informed him otherwise. The shock was enough to nearly make him drop Order Bar as his muscles convulsed, but Xaviar regained control of his body before the weapon could slip from his grasp. Smashing the scepter into one Claw Viper that thought he would be incapacitated far longer, the paladin spun quickly in a desperate attempt to locate the source of the charged bolts. Stumbling from a similar direct hit, Tara had not cast a lightning spell, while Wyszemir was methodically erecting walls around him and funneling the newly arrived Embalmed into a single, narrow corridor where his bone spears annihilated three and four at a time. Stasya still crouched behind an ancient, fallen pillar alongside the steps, patiently waiting as the Embalmed passed her by and the Guardians drew even closer.

A second burst of charged bolts few out, but they came from the center of the chamber. Snowhammer roared in pain and frustration as the electricity arced across his armor, but the barbarian refused to slow his attack against the leader of the Claw Vipers. The demonic serpent crackled with lightning, hissing furiously as it ripped a trio of bloody gashes along the north man's shoulder with its huge claws. Fighting through the pain, Snowhammer slammed his maul into the Claw Viper's side, but even as the serpent stumbled back another burst of charged bolts surged out from the demon's scaly hide.

"Snowhammer! Get out of there!" Xaviar ordered, fighting his way past another Claw Viper and heading for the dais. If Snowhammer had heard his order, the north man chose to ignore it as he struck another blow against the Claw Viper and loosed another shower of sparks and lightning. The paladin was already calling upon his aura of lightning resistance, but it would take several seconds at the least for the aura to spread to the staggering north man on the dais.

A sudden volley of ice blasts tore across the chamber, slamming into the Claw Viper with pinpoint accuracy. The serpent let out a strangled hiss as it was frozen in place, but the demon's body still threw off charged bolts with each impact. Caught so closed to the monster, Snowhammer was literally thrown off of his feet by the blasts of electricity, hurtling across the ancient altar and disappearing off the dais. Tara stared in horror at the serpent for a moment, terrified that she had inadvertently killed her companion, but she had no time to dwell on the thought as a mass of Embalmed fell on her from the stairs. Xaviar hesitated for a moment as the undead swarmed toward the sorceress, but a quick glimpse of the dais revealed a pair of Claw Vipers advancing on the badly wounded Snowhammer. Unless he reached the barbarian within the next few seconds, Snowhammer would be torn apart by his enemies.

________________________________________________________________

There were more Embalmed than she originally thought, but they passed her by without so much as a sideways glance.

Stasya remained crouched behind her fallen pillar for a moment more, watching as not two, but three of the Guardians descended the last of the steps with stiff, long strides. Wyszemir was knocking Embalmed down two or three at a time with his bone spears, but the Guardians swiftly set to the task of raising their fallen minions. Halfway between the assassin and the dais, Tara was also trying to stay out of reach of the mummified undead, backpedaling hurriedly with each ice blast or frost nova she cast. A pall of putrid gas was beginning to fill the chamber as each Embalmed released a cloud of poison into the air every time it fell, already starting to sear the assassin's lungs as she crept forward slightly. The Guardians had moved a step or two past her, giving her a wide open shot at the undead monsters' backs.

She charged forward swiftly, casting a pair of charged bolt traps ahead of her an instant before she hit them. The traps crackled to life as the assassin jammed her _kris_ to the hilt through the back of one Guardian's neck. The other two undead turned as their companion let out a harsh, guttural roar, but the charged bolt traps bought the assassin enough time to rip her blade free and jam it home again in her target's unbeating heart. Her first enemy fell to the ground, but her initial victory was of little concern to the assassin as the other two Guardians unleashed a thick cloud of poisonous gas on her.

Stasya stumbled backwards, trying to avoid the lethal vapors, but the Guardians were upon her too quickly. With tears welling in her eyes and her lungs on fire from the gas, the assassin reversed momentum and launched herself forward at her two foes. Two quick cuts from her _kris_ set one Guardian back on its heels; as that one fell back, Stasya turned her full attention to the second of the undead monsters. The assassin ducked under a brutal swipe of the Guardian's wicked claws, exploding up inside the demon's arms with a thunderous kick. The heel of Stasya's boot crushed the Guardian's canine jaw as she kicked straight up over her own head, then spun back to the ground and swept the creature's legs out from under it. Stasya was back to one knee and driving her _kris_ down into the Guardian's decaying chest almost before it hit the ground, quickly destroying the malignant creature. Stasya vaulted back to her feet to meet the last of the Guardians, but the demon had reached her too quickly. The assassin tumbled backward as the demon swung at her, its claws tearing into her ring mail and scoring deep gashes along her shoulder. Stasya rolled across the sandy floor and pushed herself quickly back to her feet, but found the Guardian on her again even as she regained her footing.

A pair of bone spear ripped through the demon then, nearly tearing it in half with the force of the impacts. The Guardian stumbled for a moment on its feet, a cloud of noxious gas beginning to form in its mouth, but the undead monstrosity never managed to release the cloud. As it finally dropped lifeless to the floor, Stasya looked past the demon to Wyszemir.

"You appeared to be having a spot of trouble, dear," the necromancer said with a faint smirk. Scattered around the remains of his bone walls and at the feet of his blood golem, Wyszemir's Embalmed attackers had finally been put to permanent rest. "I thought you might appreciate the help."

"It's the others you should worry about, and not me," Stasya said, pointing to the dais.

________________________________________________________________

They were only inches from Snowhammer when he finally reached the dais.

The north man had dropped back a step, fumbling with a healing potion as the three Claw Vipers atop the dais slithered past the altar toward him. Xaviar leapt up the three steps to the serpents before they even realized he had arrived, slamming Order Bar into the side of the nearest viper's skull with a sickening crack. As that one dropped to the ground, the other two turned on him, but the paladin was already pushing past his fallen opponent to meet them. The second Claw Viper raked across the chest of Xaviar's splint mail, tearing furrows into the metal but failing to penetrate deep enough to injure the warrior. Barely taking the time to realize the close call, Xaviar rammed through the viper with his crown shield, pushing the demon back into its sparking companion. Another burst of charged bolts showered out from the viper chieftain's body, but the paladin's aura of lightning resistance was just strong enough to absorb the worst of the damage. Feeling only a faint twitch in his muscles as he stormed forward, Xaviar leveled a vicious, underhanded swing on the reeling viper only a heartbeat before the demon's stinger punched through his armor.

The Claw Viper dropped dead as its jaw smashed with the force of Xaviar's blow, but Xaviar also stumbled to the ground as the demon's poison worked into his system. Racked with shivers and unable to force his body to respond quickly, the paladin's blood seemed to turn to ice as the toxins worked its way through his system. As he tried to raise his shield to ward off a renewed attack, the Claw Viper chieftain slithered forward, its huge mouth somehow twisted into a grin.

That grin turned into shock and pain as Snowhammer rejoined the battle.

Protected from the lightning by Xaviar's aura, Snowhammer slammed into the viper's side with a vicious bash of his maul. Unprepared for the assault, the last Claw Viper tumbled across the altar with the blow, sliding back up just as the north man leapt over the obstruction to continue the assault. Xaviar shook off the chilling effects of the viper poison just as Snowhammer chased his foe back around the altar, throwing himself back into the battle even as the Claw Viper jabbed Snowhammer with its own poison stinger.

The north man fell back as he tried to fight off the chilling poison, but the Claw Viper could not finish his original foe as Xaviar crashed into him from the side. Once again the demon went on the defensive, slithering back around the altar as it tried to work its stinger through the paladin's defenses. Each jab of the stinger met up with the paladin's shield, but Xaviar was too busy trying to hold off the Claw Viper to launch a counter of his own. Still suffering from the poison in his blood, Snowhammer nonetheless pulled himself to his feet and staggered forward, bringing his maul down in a mighty blow. With his body slowed by the Claw Viper's poison, the demon easily managed to avoid Snowhammer's swing, but the north man's weapon crashed down on the altar instead.

The altar exploded into a shower of stone fragments with the impact. Even as it shattered, a blast of brilliant light shot up from the floor, tearing through the ceiling of the temple. Xaviar and the Claw Viper both halted their combat as they watched the burst of light disappear into the inky heavens above the ancient tomb.

"No!" the Claw Viper hissed. In desperation the demon lunged forward, grabbing a pendant of gold and jet from the remains of the altar, but both Snowhammer and Xaviar turned back on the demon at the same moment. The demon's huge, clawed hand closed around the amulet in the same instant as Snowhammer's maul crushed the demon's skull and Xaviar's scepter shattered its spine.

"What was that?" Snowhammer asked, looking up to the hole torn in the tomb's roof. As Xaviar looked up to the skies above, the darkness that had shrouded the desert rapidly began to give way. In only a moment, the inky blackness had been replaced by the cloudless, cerulean sky of midday in the Dry Hills.

"That," Xaviar began, turning a faint smile on the barbarian, "was the end of an eclipse."


	12. The Jewel of the Desert

****

XXI

"More ruins?"

"Fresh ruins," Wyszemir corrected Snowhammer, idly studying the gutted buildings around the tiny band in the brilliant morning sun. In the two days since they had left the Claw Viper temple, the travelers had seen no signs of either human or demonic life until the tiny cluster of devastated homes. Behind the two, Xaviar and Tara glanced warily through the wreckage, while Stasya drifted out to their right to examine a smashed cart. A few skeletons, their bones picked clean by scavengers and bleached by the unforgiving sun, were scattered through the ruins, a few still clutching shattered spears or broken swords. "This was a thriving community not three months ago."

"How can you tell?" Snowhammer inquired, appraising the ruins about him. Wyszemir knelt down next to one of the skeletons, picking at the tattered rags still clinging to the bones.

"Because there is relatively little wear on the bones," the necromancer replied. "They have been cleaned by scavengers, yes, but the sun has not bleached these bones, nor what remains of their clothes, too severely. These bodies are not more than a month or two old."

"This isn't Lut Gholein, is it?" Snowhammer asked, growing slightly nervous. Wyszemir turned an unsettling smile on the barbarian.

"No, it isn't," Xaviar put in, cutting the death mage's morbid prank short. "Lut Gholein is a port, for one thing. For another, Lut Gholein is a walled city, not a small village set along the road."

"These guardsmen wear the uniforms of Lut Gholein's watch," Stasya said, returning to the group with a ragged scarlet sash. "This may not be Lut Gholein, but these men were from the city."

"Then we're close?" Tara asked, a faint hint of hope creeping into her voice. Wyszemir shrugged.

"It could be just over the next dune," the necromancer replied nonchalantly. "Or it could still be weeks away. We may not even be going in the right direction."

"We're still heading east," Xaviar observed, pointing to the sun. "At the very least, we will end up on the coast. From there, it should not be difficult to find Lut Gholein."

"A real bed would be wonderful," Tara said absently, peering off into the east. Snowhammer followed her gaze for a moment, but his brow wrinkled in puzzlement as he noticed a number of dark shapes in the distant sky.

"What are those?" the barbarian asked, pointing to the shapes. Wyszemir followed his line of sight, narrowing his eyes as he peered into the bright sky, but then shrugged.

"Vultures, I would think," the death mage answered.

"They're big, for vultures," Xaviar observed.

"There's a lot to feed on these days," Stasya pointed out.

"Yes, there is," Xaviar agreed, setting out from the ruins. Tara followed along a step behind, confusion written across her features.

"Where are you going?" the sorceress asked, trying to keep up with the paladin.

"If there are vultures, there might be survivors from another raid," Xaviar said, barely turning back. Snowhammer was already starting quickly after the group, while Stasya sighed in frustration before striking out on the trail once more.

"Or they might have found some long dead bodies," Wyszemir argued, shaking his head as he reluctantly started after the rest of the group.

"They don't circle over dead meat," Xaviar called back, refusing to slow. Stasya threw a last, helpless shrug over her shoulder at the necromancer before hurrying to keep up with the others.

______________________________________________________

The sounds of battle became evident long before he cleared the last dune. From his vantage point on the high ground, Xaviar found himself looking down on a tiny, beleaguered outpost, the walls barely more than the ruins the paladin had left behind. The vultures that Snowhammer had spotted were actually Carrion Birds, revolting demons with the bodies and legs of giant rats and the wings and beaks of vultures. The Carrion Birds and Sand Leapers, cousins to the Tomb Creepers that had infested Steeltooth the Hungry's cave complex, were assaulting a small group of soldiers and, from what the paladin could see, refugees that had taken shelter inside the outpost. A half dozen bodies were already strewn across the sand amid the demons that had fallen to the defenders, and even as Xaviar hesitated another of the spearmen trying to hold the outpost was dragged from his position and torn apart by the Sand Leapers.

"We have to act quickly if we want to be of any help," Xaviar said, glancing back at the others. "Tara and Snowhammer had already joined him, while Stasya and Wyszemir were just reaching the top of the rise as he spoke.

"This shouldn't be too difficult," Snowhammer observed, hefting his maul.

"Let's try to be careful, anyway," Xaviar suggested. "Same as usual. Snowhammer and I will charge, while Tara and Wyszemir back us up with spells. Stasya, watch our backs for any demonic reinforcements."

"Oh good," Stasya remarked with a smirk, sitting back on a large chunk of rock. "I get to sit this one out."

"Keep your eyes open," Xaviar ordered, turning a stern glare on the assassin. Stasya flashed an innocent smile to the paladin, but he and Snowhammer were already turning to the battle below.

Tara's ice blasts led the way down the faint hill to the demons, striking their targets only an instant after Wyszemir's first enhance damage curse fell on the Carrion Birds assaulting the outpost. The demons turned quickly on the new attackers, but they seemed hardly prepared for the brutal assault that Xaviar and Snowhammer leveled on them. The paladin's first swing of Order Bar crushed the beak and skull of one of the Carrion Birds, while Snowhammer's maul swept through two of the Sand Leapers at once, flinging them both into the outpost's crumbling wall. A pair of bone spears from Wyszemir skewered another two of them demonic scavengers, while Tara's ice blasts froze three more of the Carrion Birds in the air, dropping each to the ground where they shattered against the rocky sand. Xaviar had barely turned to his third opponent when the remainder of the demons fled, clumsily flying away to the north or sprinting off into the dunes. Xaviar took only a few steps after the attackers, making certain that they had indeed given up the fight, before turning back to the survivors. Two of the spearmen cautiously made their way out of the ruins, still holding their weapons at the ready as they appraised the newcomers. Xaviar dropped his scepter back into the loop on his belt, and held his hands out from his sides in a gesture of peace.

"I am Xaviar, Paladin of Zakarum," he said, introducing himself. The two defenders glanced to each other for a moment before looking back to the crusader. Behind the paladin, Tara, Stasya, and Wyszemir joined the group. "We mean you no harm."

"You are far from your home, paladin," the older of the two defenders said, lowering his spear only the faintest bit. He was slightly shorter than Xaviar, sporting a thick black mustache and dark, distrusting eyes. His companion, younger, taller, and of a slightly better build than his wary companion, grew visibly more relaxed as the paladin identified himself, but the older defender refused to let his guard down. "Your companions, as well," he continued, his eyes lingering for a long moment on Wyszemir. "What are you doing here?"

"We are headed for Lut Gholein," Xaviar explained, taking the guard's hostility in stride. "Our caravan was attacked weeks ago in the desert, and we have been trying to reach the city ever since."

"And the demons just let you pass," the older spearman assumed, thoroughly skeptical.

"No, they didn't!" Snowhammer cut in, losing his cool with the defender's suspicion. "We've fought our way through scores of demons, and even lost one of our friends to the Sand Maggots! We just saved your lives, you ungrateful bastard!"

"Mind your tongue, boy, before I cut it out!" the defender snapped back, raising his spear once more. Snowhammer pulled his maul back to swing, but Xaviar threw himself quickly between the two men.

"We're not here to fight you!" the paladin shouted. Xaviar turned a stern warning glare on Snowhammer, then on the spearman. The two men slowly lowered their weapons under the paladin's gaze, reluctantly backing off from the confrontation. "We're on the same side," Xaviar continued. "We have all suffered at the hands of the demons, and it has rightly made us all wary of other travelers. But our chances of reaching Lut Gholein will improve if we travel together. Agreed?"

The older spearman glared at Snowhammer for a moment, but Xaviar put himself into the man's line of sight. After a long moment of hesitation, the defender dropped his eyes to the ground.

"Agreed," he finally said. Xaviar nodded.

"As I said, I am Xaviar," the paladin offered. "My companions are Snowhammer, Tara, Wyszemir, and Stasya."

"I am Hazade," the spearman answered in turn. He gestured to the man that had confronted Xaviar with him. "My partner is Alhizeer. We were sent out from Lut Gholein to find refugees and stragglers in the villages of Al Akbar and Qeshm. As you might see from our small group, casualties have been… high."

"Then we will travel with you, and help you defend the refugees," Xaviar said. Hazade paused for a long moment, his eyes on Wyszemir, but the death mage thankfully did nothing to bait the suspicious spearman.

"Very well," Hazade finally decided, turning back to Xaviar. "We should reach Lut Gholein by nightfall, if we hurry. Let us move quickly, before the demons come back with more allies."

______________________________________________________

"Apparently, the Rogue Lands were not the only ones to suffer from demonic assaults."

"They have grown increasingly bold over the past months," Hazade explained, walking with Xaviar a few yards ahead of the refugee column. As the spearman led the group toward his home city, the remains of destroyed villages and outposts became more and more common. What few wells there had been in these devastated communities were poisoned by the bodies of slain villagers thrown into the water, but Xaviar's cleansing prayers had been enough to purify enough water for the ragged band. Now, with the sun setting behind them, the caravan passed through another of the destroyed towns, trying to avoid the empty gazes of the skeletons littering the ruins. "Even Lut Gholein is not entirely safe. Prince Jerhyn has hired my captain, Greiz, to bolster the city guard, and to conduct sweeps of the Rocky Wastes."

"You are mercenaries, then," Xaviar concluded, turning to the spearman. Hazade nodded his affirmation, oblivious to the faint hint of displeasure in the paladin's voice.

"When Jerhyn moved the harems inside his palace, he also reinforced his personal guard with the city watch," Hazade explained. "He left the people nearly defenseless until he hired us. We're the best this wasteland has to offer, and we've proven it with the outbreak of this war. Without us, Lut Gholein might have fallen already."

"Why did he move everyone inside the palace?" Xaviar asked, growing curious with the unusual situation. Hazade shrugged.

"The girls asked for protection, apparently," the spearman replied. "A few days later, he called the entire watch inside the palace, and immediately offered Greiz whatever he wanted to keep the peace in the city." Hazade hesitated for a moment, then turned a smirk on the paladin. "I wish he would have asked us to protect the harem girls, instead of the watch."

"It seems odd to pull the entire watch into the palace," Xaviar remarked. Hazade shrugged again.

"There are many evil things in, and under, Lut Gholein these days," the mercenary said. Hazade glanced over his shoulder for a second, then continued. "And it strikes me as no more odd than a paladin and necromancer traveling together."

"He was… an ally of necessity," Xaviar said uneasily. Hazade nodded.

"And when you reach Lut Gholein, will he remain an ally of necessity?" the spearman inquired. Xaviar said nothing for a long moment, uncertain how his tenuous alliance with the death mage would be affected by their arrival. Seeing the paladin's hesitation, Hazade chuckled lightly. "These are dark times, Xaviar," the mercenary said. "Such times often make strange allies."

"I will never approve of his ways," Xaviar stated, trying to project a tone of certainty.

"Is it me you are trying to convince?" Hazade asked. "Or yourself?"

"When will we reach Lut Gholein?" Xaviar asked, tactlessly trying to change topics. Hazade paused for a moment, but thankfully decided to let the conversation drop.

"Just over the next rise," the mercenary replied, pointing to the dunes in front of them. With the light rapidly failing behind them, Xaviar suddenly wanted to be inside the walls of the city, fearing another attack that would claim the lives of the women and children with the group. "When we get there, you should probably see Fara. She was a paladin once, but she is now the city's weapons merchant and blacksmith. I believe she is still fairly religious, though."

"I will be certain to see her," Xaviar said. The two continued up the hill in silence, stopping only when they had reached the crest of the dunes.

The walled city of Lut Gholein dominated the coastline set before the two men as they crested the dunes, its sandstone walls almost glowing a dull, reddish orange in the last rays of the sun. Although the city was known as a bustling, busy port, not a single ship dotted the waters beyond the shore, and what little Xaviar could see of the city inside the walls seemed quiet and deserted. Outside the walls of the city proper, smashed wagons and burned homes lay half buried beneath the shifting sands. As Xaviar looked down on the grim scene, he was easily reminded of a city facing a major siege, but there was not a single demon to be found in the rocky dunes around the small refugee column. Hazade turned to Xaviar as the paladin hesitated on the dune, his face stony and emotionless.

"Welcome to the Jewel of the Desert," the mercenary said simply.

****

XXI

"So this is Lut Gholein."

"This is it," Alhizeer confirmed with a smile, turning back to Snowhammer as the two men passed through the arched, iron bound doors of the desert port. As his companions and the refugees made their way past him into the sand and cobble streets, the north man took a moment to appraise the abandoned thoroughfares around him.

"I thought there would be more people here," Snowhammer said, turning back to the mercenary. Hazade, Alhizeer, and a handful of mercenaries turned watchmen were herding the refugees toward a low, mud brick building where a wizened old man questioned each one in turn. Alhizeer turned back to the north man as he heard the comment, growing slightly more serious.

"There were, before Radament," the younger mercenary said.

"Who's Radament?" Snowhammer asked.

"What is Radament, is a better question," another of the mercenaries said darkly. "No one has seen who, or what, it is. But on dark nights, the screams of its victims echo through the streets, and waters of the harbor turn red as their blood washes out of the sewers."

"That was a bit theatrical," Stasya said, suddenly appearing at Snowhammer's side. Mizan turned a deathly serious expression on the assassin for a moment, then turned back to his duties of controlling the refugees.

"He may be theatrical, but he's right," Alhizeer said. "Wait until the sun goes down. Wherever you sleep tonight, don't venture outside, and hope that Radament doesn't come to find you. What we find of the bodies it leaves behind… is not pleasant."

"We survived that God forsaken desert out there," Stasya commented, hooking a thumb over her shoulder to the gates. "Whatever your Radament is, it can't be worse than what we've already seen."

"Just don't go outside tonight," Alhizeer said, turning away from the pair. Stasya chuckled at the mercenaries' fears once the two were out of earshot.

"Just don't go outside," the assassin repeated, mocking Alhizeer. Snowhammer turned to her angrily.

"What do you want?" the barbarian demanded.

"Greiz wants to see us," Stasya answered. "Xaviar sent me to find you."

"Who is Greiz?" Snowhammer asked. Stasya smirked at the north man, but said nothing as she turned back to a guardhouse set just inside the gates.

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"I bet you're wondering how this city manages to stay safe with all the trouble going on out in the desert. Well, I can tell you it has nothing to do with the local town guards. They're all in the palace, for some reason."

Greiz looked across his desk at the five travelers assembled in the guardhouse, his dark yes full of the same aloof disdain that Snowhammer was used to seeing from the leaders of his clan when they welcomed foreigners to the north lands. The mercenary leader was a tall, powerfully built man with the rough, aquiline features of a hardened desert dweller and a stern, commanding voice. His coarse black hair was covered by a turban wrapped around a pointed steel helm, and a suit of chain mail that seemed to glow in the dim lantern light of the watch house hung from his shoulders. Belted to his waist by a crimson sash, the mercenary commander wore a jeweled scimitar that sparkled with his movements.

"Because of this fact, my men and I are the law in Lut Gholein," Greiz said, leaning forward on his desk. "I expect you to treat my men as such, with respect and obedience. Your religious codes, your mystical studies, or your brute strength do not make you immune to my laws. My men are the best this wasteland has to offer, and we are more than willing to prove it to a passing group of arrogant adventurers."

"We are not looking for a fight here," Xaviar said. "Just a night's rest before I leave for Kurast, and for the others before they move on to their destinations."

"You will have a hard time reaching Kurast, paladin," Greiz said, smirking faintly. "Because of recent… problems, no ships are leaving port until further notice from Jerhyn."

Snowhammer glanced over to Xaviar, but the crusader took the news with only a sigh of frustration.

"There is a curfew in effect," Greiz continued, ignoring Xaviar's dissatisfaction. "One hour after the sun sets, no one is to be on the streets. This is for your own good. Although I do not think this needs to be said, stay out of the sewers. In fact, stay away from the grates and the chutes that empty into the bay. If you have not heard of Radament already, rest assured that you soon will. I do not care where you sleep, but if you are in my city you will be indoors. Is that understood?"

"What is this Radament?" Xaviar asked.

"A demon," Greiz replied. "It lives in the sewers, as far as we can tell. I have closed off all access to the streets and posted guards, but from time to time it finds a way out. That is why the curfew has been established. I trust the terms of your stay are clear to you?"

"Extremely," Xaviar said. "Although perhaps, if I cannot leave for Kurast, I could possibly slay this demon for you."

Greiz flashed a derisive smile to the paladin for a moment, then turned to the others.

"You have little time to find suitable lodging," the mercenary commander observed, disregarding Xaviar's statement as he pointed to the darkness beyond the door. "I think the Desert Rain Inn has rooms for the night. It is just off to the right, only a few doors down the street. If there are no questions, you are free to go."

"I suppose it is time that we retire," Wyszemir said nonchalantly, turning with a faint smirk to Greiz. The mercenary commander looked up at the necromancer from his desk, his aloof demeanor growing slightly more disdainful. "Thank you for talking the time to welcome us to the city personally, captain."

"You should get moving," Greiz prompted.

"Of course," Wyszemir said, his grin becoming slightly wider. The necromancer turned and started to the door, whistling an idle tune as he disappeared into the darkness. Stasya followed the death mage into the street, casting one last, amused glance back at the remainder of the group. Snowhammer watched the pair disappear for a moment, then looked back to Xaviar just as Greiz appraised the paladin one more time.

"Is there something you wish to ask?" the mercenary commander inquired, locking gazes with the paladin for a moment. Xaviar seemed to tense for a confrontation, but then shook his head.

"I think I've found out everything I need to know," Xaviar said. "Good night, captain."

Greiz nodded without a word. Xaviar hesitated for only a moment more before turning and walking out into the darkness. Tara quickly followed the paladin out, once again following Xaviar's lead. Snowhammer took a quick step to follow the sorceress, but Greiz's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Hold for a moment, north man," the mercenary commander said. Snowhammer stared off into the darkness, trying to locate Tara's receding form, but then turned back to the warrior. "My men have taken casualties since the start of this war, and I am always looking for a good man. Are you interested?"

"In becoming a mercenary?" the barbarian concluded, surprised by Greiz's offer. The mercenary commander nodded.

"If you are as good with your maul as I think you may be, I could use you here," he explained. "The paladin has said you are going your separate ways here. If that is the case, I hope you will consider staying on as one of my men."

"I… don't know," Snowhammer said, genuinely uncertain of how to answer. The barbarian had left his home to find riches and glory, but until now he had never truly given thought as to how he would achieve his goals. With his trail apparently ending, for the time being at least, in Lut Gholein, a job as a mercenary did not sound so bad. In fact, if not for Tara's apparent dislike of mercenaries, the barbarian might have instantly accepted the offer. "I'll… need some time to think about this," Snowhammer added.

"Sleep on it," Greiz said, letting a little bit of his cool demeanor slip into a friendly smile. "There's no real way to get out of Lut Gholein for the time being, unless you want to head back into the desert. You may as well earn some coin while you're waiting."

"Thank you," Snowhammer said. The barbarian took a step to the door, then stopped and turned back for a moment. "I'll let you know in a couple of days."

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"It seems we will not be rid of each other so easily, after all."

"Keep walking, Wyszemir," Xaviar grumbled, still frustrated by the rather brusque dismissal Greiz had shown him in the guardhouse. Tara hurried to keep step with the paladin as the pair caught up to Wyszemir and Stasya in the middle of the dark street. Only one or two lanterns illuminated the sandy thoroughfare, but one of the lights had been set next to a large sign proclaiming the four story, sandstone building to be the Desert Rain Inn. Stasya giggled at Xaviar's frustration and indignance. "I don't have the patience for either of you tonight."

"And here I thought we would share a last ale before our paths grow apart," Wyszemir said. "Although I must admit, a paladin's zeal and a necromancer's curse make for a potent combination, indeed. Who would have guessed that two men of such disparate paths would form such an effective team?"

Xaviar nearly stopped in midstride, but he kept his surprise in check at the statement. The death mage had nearly echoed the sentiment of the conversation he had held earlier in the day with Hazade, once again bringing the nature of their relationship into question. Had the death mage overheard him earlier, or was Wyszemir simply goading the paladin into another argument?

"He doesn't need your black magic to be effective," Tara retorted, jumping to Xaviar's defense even as Xaviar balked. Stasya nearly burst out in a fit of laughter, but managed to bring some of her mirth under control.

"No, he only needs your sorcery, pure as the driven snow," the assassin countered, laughing so hard that she could barely finish the statement. Tara took a furious step forward, brandishing her staff, but Xaviar quickly grabbed her by the arm.

"We have one more night together," the paladin stated, looking to each of his three companions in turn. "Perhaps we can last through it without prodding each other into a fight."

"An excellent suggestion," Wyszemir said. The death mage paused for a moment, allowing Snowhammer to rejoin the group. "Now that we are all here," he continued, "shall we see to our lodging for the night?"

"Let's," Xaviar said, quickly starting off again towards the inn. Tara started after him, but Snowhammer caught her quickly by the arm.

"What happened?" the barbarian asked, watching as Stasya and Wyszemir followed Xaviar to the building. Tara shook her head, trying to shake the last of her frustration at the situation.

"Nothing important," the sorceress replied, already trying to start after the others. Snowhammer still held on to her arm, refusing to let her go.

"Look, Tara, I… can we talk?" the barbarian asked, trying to pick his words as carefully as possible. Tara closed her eyes for a moment, but then turned as amiable an expression as she could muster to the north man.

"Tomorrow, Snowhammer," she said. "I'm just really tired, and Stasya… well, I just want to get some rest."

"Tomorrow, though," Snowhammer pressed. "Please, Tara. It is kind of important."

"I promise," Tara said, gently removing the north man's fingers from her arm. She smiled slightly, and gestured to the door of the inn. "We'd better get going, before the others start to talk."

With a final pat to Snowhammer's hand, the sorceress turned and hurried to the inn. Snowhammer remained in the street a moment longer, then finally started to the building himself.

"What would be so bad about them talking?" the barbarian inquired of the darkness, a trace of pain edging into his words.

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"You look like a sturdy pack of adventurers," Elzix said, leaning on the counter. The old innkeeper wore a broad smile on his scarred, weatherbeaten face as he smoothed out the brown apron he wore. Before Xaviar could respond to the statement, the old innkeeper continued. "You know, I used to be quite the scoundrel, back in my day. Why, I led the fiercest group of bandits that ever terrorized these sands! But, now I just run this inn and stay out of trouble. My adventuring days are behind me."

"We need rooms," Xaviar said flatly, dropping a pouch of gold coins onto the counter. Elzix paused for a moment, taken off guard by the paladin's surly attitude, but quickly regained his smile and his composure. "Five, if possible."

"I can only give you two," Elzix explained, shaking his head. "Prince Jerhyn has asked me to make room for as many refugees as possible, what with the current problems. He even has me taking in beggars and letting them use the attic as a hostel!"

"When one is forced to take in beggars, it is dark times indeed," Wyszemir quipped, stifling a faint chuckle.

"We'll take two," Xaviar agreed. "Stasya and Tara can have one, while we take the other."

"I'm not sharing a room with her," Tara declared, folding her arms across her chest in a show of defiance. Stasya simply laughed at the display.

"After what we've been through already, I would think sharing rooms would be no great sacrifice," Xaviar observed, putting himself between the two women. Elzix nodded with a smile, and retrieved as pair of keys from the hooks behind him.

"Rooms six and seven," the innkeeper said, picking up the pouch of gold from the counter. He poured the coins into his hand, sifting out his fee. "You realize, of course, that I have to charge for the extra people," Elzix explained, taking nearly double the cost that was posted on the wall by the door.

"Of course," Xaviar agreed, drawing in a deep sigh as he forced himself to overlook the innkeeper's price gouging. The paladin handed one key over to Tara, then turned to the steps that led to the rooms on the second floor without another word.

"I think I will turn in, as well," Wyszemir said, following the paladin to the stairs. "Are you coming, north man?"

"Soon," Snowhammer replied, glancing over to the tiny common room of the inn. "I'm a little thirsty, for the moment."

"Then we'll see you in the morning," Xaviar said, already halfway up the steps. After so many tense days and nights in the desert, the only thing the paladin was truly concerned with for the moment was a decent, uninterrupted night's sleep in a soft bed. Xaviar pushed his way through the door to room six, and stopped for a moment as he considered the lone bed set against the wall to the right.

"Take it," Wyszemir said, finding his way into the room behind the crusader. "The boy will understand. I myself do not think a straw mattress would be so good for my back after wearing this chain mail for so long."

"Thank you," Xaviar said quietly, going to work on the buckles that held his splint mail in place. As the paladin his armor and weapons and the foot of the bed, Wyszemir turned to him with a faint smile.

"One more night as allies," the necromancer observed, his smile visible in the dim light of the single lamp in the room. "How many more times do you suppose we shall say that?"

Xaviar fell back without a reply on the bed, still wondering about the answer to Wyszemir's simple inquiry as he drifted into fitful sleep.


	13. Respite, of a Sort

A Word of Thanks goes out to Nevermore for these two chapters, as he helped me iron out the massive amount of character development that takes place in the following two chapters. Writing fight scenes is the easy part of writing. It's trying to think like five different people that really takes a lot of work. Once again, kudos to the Chief (and Only) Editor…

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XXII

The sun had not yet risen as Xaviar walked out along the docks, making his way past the silent, empty ships trapped in the harbor when Prince Jerhyn had declared the port closed. Behind him, in the dim gray light of dawn, the city of Lut Gholein was still asleep, kept indoors by both the darkness and the curfew. Along the docks, the only sounds came from the gentle lapping of waves against the shore and the quiet creaks of the moored ships. Not a single soul occupied the docks, leaving the paladin in absolute solitude.

The solitude, however, was exactly what had drawn Xaviar to the dark, abandoned docks. The paladin needed time away from the others. The strains of holding the group together through the desert had taken their toll on the warrior, but more than that the paladin faced an uncertain future with the makeshift band of allies that fate had cobbled together. Xaviar was still focused on leaving for Kurast as soon as possible, worried that each day he delayed brought his homeland closer to destruction. The information he had received in the northlands stated that the situation was growing dire, and that had been two years ago. Now, the paladin could only hope that he would return to a land not conquered by demons. And despite his confidence in his own martial prowess, the time he had spent in the desert had convinced him that he would need allies upon his return to Kurast.

Their arrival in Lut Gholein, however, had seemingly shattered what little coherence the tiny band had formed during their trials in the desert. While the threat of demons beyond the city walls and the shadowy, murderous Radament might force them to share rooms for the next couple of nights, Xaviar appeared to be the only one out of the five that planned on completing the journey to his distant homeland. Tara, so young and innocent, had suffered terribly in the mere two weeks it had taken them to travel together to the port, losing her fiancé and blaming herself for Io's death. Xaviar would not even consider asking her to continue the fight, even though he suspected that she would join him if he asked. Snowhammer, out on his own to find riches and glory, would likely seek his goals within easy reach of the sorceress that had smitten him. Stasya, interested only in gold and jewelry, would certainly not consider traveling to the heart of Zakarumite power. And Wyszemir…

Again Xaviar shook his head, frustrated by the problems the necromancer presented him. Wyszemir was Xaviar's exact opposite, wielding dark magic and showing no concern for others. Several times Xaviar had been certain that the death mage was intentionally trying to destroy what little coherence the tiny band had formed, aiming his barbed comments at Tara or Snowhammer as often as he had the paladin. Xaviar had never even bothered to ask Wyszemir's business in Lut Gholein, or where he was traveling if the port city was not his destination. Originally, Xaviar had wanted nothing to do with the man once they no longer needed each other. In fact, if it had not been out of concern for Tara and Snowhammer's safety, he would never have taken Wyszemir on as an ally, preferring instead to test the desert and the demons alone. At least, that was what he had told himself since their inauspicious beginnings at the devastated caravan.

Despite the necromancy, and despite all the reasons Xaviar had to hate the man, Xaviar found himself needing the necromancer more and more. For all his snide remarks and indirect insults, the necromancer was an amazingly capable warrior. Blasphemous or not, Wyszemir was a powerful sorcerer and a master of the black arts, and had used his power to devastating effect against the demons they had fought in the desert. Wyszemir's statement the previous night had been correct; the power of a necromancer and paladin combined were a potent force against Hell's minions. And for all of his arguing against rescuing the caravan or finding Stasya and Snowhammer at the Far Oasis, Wyszemir had nonetheless thrown himself into each endeavor wholeheartedly, even watching out for and helping his allies. The death mage was hardly an angel, but in the time it had taken the group to cross the desert he had proven himself to be no demon, either.

In the desert, Xaviar had been able to force the moral dilemma from his mind. He and Wyszemir were allies of necessity, with no choice but to work with one another in order to survive. But now, with no immediate concerns, the paladin was forced to see Wyszemir's actions in full. In the Lost City, Wyszemir had fought the Dark Elder in single combat, rather than fleeing and forcing Xaviar to face the ancient demon. At the Far Oasis, the necromancer had remained by Io's side to the very last, battling on despite the injuries he had taken and sending his golem to the Amazon's aid against Coldworm the Burrower. Finally, the necromancer had saved Tara's life during the battle against Steeltooth the Hungry, using his spells and animated skeletons to protect the girl while Xaviar could do nothing to aid the young sorceress. For all his cruel remarks to the girl, Tara would never have survived the journey to Lut Gholein without Wyszemir's help.

During his training as a paladin, Xaviar had been taught time and again the evils of necromancy. The Church of Zakarum considered it the gateway to demonic corruption. Necromancers were said to be incapable of compassion, pity, or remorse. They aided no one but themselves, unless they stood to gain. At first glance across the desert sands, the hordes of zombies and mummies seemed to support the church's teachings, but a close look at Wyszemir disproved the theory. He had shown compassion, however faint, to Tara when they found Phinian in Steeltooth's lair. He had shown remorse when he could do nothing to save Io. And Wyszemir had come to all of his allies' aid, often at risk to himself. The belief that necromancers were no better than demons was starting to unravel, in some small way, and the paladin's uncertainty terrified him. If the church was wrong, after repeated proclamations that necromancers were to be killed without thought or remorse, were they wrong about other tenets? Had the Council only recently fallen to Mephisto, or had the Lord of Hatred quietly subverted them much earlier? How much of the Zakarumite religion had been founded on noble principles, and how much was Mephisto's doctrine of hatred and intolerance? Were the paladins of Zakarum pawns of their most hated foe?

"I am not a pawn," Xaviar growled out, trying to reinforce his confidence. He sounded certain enough, but even as he turned and finally started back into the stirring city the doubts arose once more.

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Night in Lut Gholein had seen the city nearly deserted, as residents and travelers heeded the warnings and curfew and remained indoors. With the morning sun, however, the entire city emptied into the streets.

Tara made her way through the narrow streets of Lut Gholein in barely concealed awe, taking in the sights of the ancient city with wide eyes. While her arrival in the port city had been overwhelmed with an almost palpable fear of the shadowy demon Radament, the brilliant morning sun revealed the city's beautiful architecture and vibrant bazaars. Dozens of street stands and store fronts housed hawkers selling fine silks, enchanting jewelry, and fragrant perfumes. Musicians played sitars and pipes on the corners or in street side cafes, entertaining dozens of shoppers taking a moment to drink a hot black liquid called coffee. Tara had taken only a sip of the bitter drink in Elzix' common room, so different from the tea that her own homeland served, but the concoction had instantly chased away the last of her morning grogginess. Towering over the vendors and crowds in the streets, tiled domes and bronze minarets sparkled in the morning sun, creating a breathtaking, distinctive skyline. Even with the increased presence of spear wielding mercenaries on almost every corner, the sights and sounds of the Jewel of the Desert were enough to allow the young sorceress a chance to forget the demons outside the city's walls or the monster hiding in the sewers beneath her feet. For the first time in weeks, she had also been able to leave her staff and breastplate behind in her room, deciding to risk the possibility that Stasya would steal her weapons and armor.

The respite from the war, as well as her companions, was just the thing Tara needed after so much time lost in the wastes. Stasya had already disappeared from their room when the sorceress had awoken, while Snowhammer and Wyszemir had still been asleep. The only person that Tara had found herself hoping to run into before her tour of the city had been Xaviar, but the paladin had also left the inn before Tara found her way out of bed. Snowhammer would no doubt be upset that he had missed her early departure, but the last thing Tara wanted for the moment was to confront the barbarian. She was too certain that Snowhammer was trying to push the issue of their relationship; nearly two weeks had passed since Phinian had died in the desert, and the barbarian was beginning to grow more and more impatient with her reluctance to accept his advances. Snowhammer had certainly been nice to her, and had dispelled some of the myths Tara had believed true about the northern tribes, but the barbarian still embodied many of the stereotypes. He was not a bad man, but Snowhammer still struck the young sorceress as a rowdy, hard drinking brawler who took no heed of danger before charging into battle. So unlike Xaviar, who displayed self control and conviction in everything he did…

"Welcome to Lut Gholein, young sorceress," someone said. Tara snapped out of her musings instantly at the sound of the voice, turning quickly to her left. Lost in her thoughts about Snowhammer and Xaviar, the sorceress had not even noticed that she had left the noisy, vibrant bazaar behind her. Her wanderings had taken her into a shady side alley, quiet but for the distant bustle of the market somewhere beyond the stone buildings that now surrounded her. The man that had addressed her was a tall, thin desert dweller with a neatly trimmed, snow white goatee, dressed in rich orange and black robes and a jeweled turban to match. The man held a gemmed, gnarled staff in his hands, a sure sign of his arcane studies. As Tara hesitated, the man smiled. "I hope I did not startle you," he said.

"No, no, not at all," the sorceress stammered out, trying to regain her composure. "I… I was just thinking. How did you know I was a sorceress?"

"Your robes," the man replied, smiling faintly. "Also, I had heard that a band of outsiders aided some of Greiz's men in the desert yesterday, and that group contained a young sorceress. I myself am a practitioner of the art, and as such I can easily recognize one of the Zann Esu. My name is Drognan, and I know what you're up against, my friend. You ought to look over my inventory of items for trade. Perhaps you would like a staff, if you do not already own one."

"I don't have very much money," Tara said, taking a step closer to the wizard. Barely visible in the shop behind the well dressed merchant, the sorceress could see a small number of wands and staves in the dark interior, along with a small number of potions and furled scrolls. "And I think my days of fighting are over."

"Ah, I see," Drognan said, nodding. "Still, it is best to be prepared. There will be many dark days ahead, should you remain in Lut Gholein. I have an excellent short staff, well made and with the power to boost shiver armor, should you focus on ice spells."

"I… I do," Tara said, a bit surprised that he had offered a staff so well tailored to her needs. "But… I have a staff of my own, and as I said, I do not have much gold."

"Nevertheless, perhaps you would like to see it," Drognan said, gently trying to push the sale. "It is a fine staff, an asset to any young sorceress."

"Thank you, but no thank you," Tara said, trying to add a tone of finality while still being polite. Drognan shook his head.

"A pity," the old wizard said, taking a moment to examine the ruby set in the tip of his own staff. He let out a dismayed sigh, then continued. "I fear I shall never find a home for it."

"I'm certain another mage will reach your shop," Tara said, smiling faintly at the mage's act.

"You may be correct, but there are occasions that I wonder if it will be in my time," Drognan said, once again appraising his staff. "Too often now, the only travelers to Lut Gholein are refugees, no one with the talent and skill to make use of such a staff. No true mages, capable of using such power. You were my last hope."

"Your… last hope?" Tara repeated, stunned by the remark. She had nearly started back to the distant market, but the old wizard's words, and something in the inflection, had stopped her dead in her tracks. Drognan looked up at the sorceress' shocked expression, smiling faintly.

"For the staff," the old wizard said, speaking before Tara could form any kind of question about the meaning of his statement. "No, I suppose no Zann Esu will travel here for some time. Perhaps after the war, if we are still here. Still, a battle mage of the Zann Esu would be a welcome sight in these dark times. There are times when a single spellcaster can turn the tide of battle."

"Maybe… maybe one will come," Tara faltered, growing more and more uncomfortable with the conversation. The old wizard's faintly dreary tone and choice of words had set the young sorceress back on her heels, uncertain if Drognan actually considered her a battle mage. The mighty warrior wizards of the Zann Esu wielded powerful magic, and never ran from combat as she had in the tunnels beneath the Far Oasis. "But… the City Watch will hold out, in the meantime."

"Greiz and his men?" Drognan concluded. "Yes, they are good. If I recall, your traveling companions included a paladin and a northern barbarian. Is that true?"

"Well, yes," Tara answered. Drognan smiled.

"I hope they will help Jerhyn protect the city," the old wizard said. "Even the north man. They might make the occasional mistake, but then again, not even a paladin is perfect."

"I…" Tara started. The sorceress fell silent, struck dumb by Drognan's statement. There was no way he could have known, but the wizard seemed to be addressing her very thoughts. Drognan waited a moment, seemingly expecting some kind of remark from her, but Tara was too shocked by his words to form a reply.

"Perhaps you'll reconsider?" the old wizard inquired. Tara's mouth dropped open at the question. "About the staff, of course," he continued, acting oblivious to the sorceress' distress. "It may not look like much, but it is most effective."

"No, I…" Tara stammered. The sorceress turned to the market, took a hesitant step in that direction, then looked back to Drognan. "Maybe… I'll see it tomorrow?"

"I am always here," Drognan said, smiling faintly. Tara nodded, then turned and hurried back to the bazaar.

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With how quiet the city had been when they had first arrived, he had thought it would be no problem to locate his friends on the street. But the bustling market of Lut Gholein had dashed any hopes of a quick search from his mind almost instantly.

Pushing his way through the throngs of merchants and buyers, Snowhammer continued his search through the market undaunted as he tried to locate Tara or any of his other companions. Although the north man stood nearly a foot taller than the next tallest individual in the market, the relatively unobstructed view had thus far made no difference in his search. Finally, as the sun reached its zenith in the sky and many of the locals retreated under the awnings of cafes and market stalls to hide from the midday sun, Snowhammer stopped in the shadow of a building to consider his course. In the desert the midday sun had been excruciating, but today, coupled with the aftereffects of a hearty night of drinking in Elzix' tiny common room, the glaring light was downright murderous to his eyes. The painful light, a pounding headache, an unsettled stomach, and Tara's disappearance all combined to put barbarian on the verge of frenzy.

"She knew I wanted to talk to her," Snowhammer grumbled to himself, trying to think of where the sorceress might have gone. He had been the last one to wake up that morning, waking long after the others had disappeared into the city. "Where could she have gone?" 

Snowhammer squinted into the brilliant sunlight again, hoping that Tara would appear somewhere among the stalls in the center of the crowded market. Once again, however, only the city's residents moved through the square or took refuge inside the buildings. Growling in frustration, the north man tried to find any place in the market where a sorceress would be likely to go.

At one corner of the market Snowhammer found his most likely chance. Although the sign hung above the arched doorway of the low stone building that he spotted was written in the odd alphabet favored by the desert dwellers, what little he could see of the inside of the shop appeared to be some sort of alchemical repository. It was possible that Tara had gone searching for a potion or magical elixir of some sort, and the north man quickly pushed his way through the market to the open door.

The inside of the building was fairly large and spacious, and thankfully much cooler than the street, but the most obvious aspect was the rows upon rows of shelves lining each wall. Each shelf held literally hundreds of bottles, flasks, jars, vials, jugs, and beakers, all of them labeled with bizarre, arcane marks. Some he recognized as healing potions or alchemical remedies for poisons, but many more were beyond the barbarian's limited scope of knowledge. Above him, where there should have been a roof, a simple red and orange awning was all that covered the shop's interior from the elements. For a long moment Snowhammer simply stared at the potions all around him, surprised by the dizzying variety of colors and shapes.

"Eh, what the hell do you want?" a rude, raspy voice suddenly demanded from the rear of the shop. Snowhammer turned quickly to the speaker, in time to see the shop's apparent owner hobble out into the center of the sales room. Leaning on a long staff with an ankh-shaped head and dressed in a tall, conical red hat and simple robes that seemed cut from the same material as the awning, the man that approached him was far more than old. His eyes squinted in a myopic gesture as his mouth, largely concealed by an unkempt beard, wrinkled up in a frown. As Snowhammer paused, surprised by the withered old man's appearance, the shopkeeper shuffled up to the far larger north man.

"Well, I was looking-" the barbarian started.

"How do I know I can trust you, hmm?" the old man interrupted, jabbing Snowhammer in the ribs with his staff. The barbarian staggered back a step, thoroughly surprised by the man's surly demeanor. "You might be as shifty as that pack rat, Elzix, that runs the inn!"

"I was trying to-" Snowhammer tried again. Once again the shopkeeper cut him off.

"But if you need one, I suppose I can mix you a potion," the old man continued as he tottered back into the shop, a clearly disgusted tone to his voice. The old man turned back for a second, regarding the north man once more. "For a price, of course," he added.

"Well, see, I was-" Snowhammer began again.

"Well speak up, boy!" the shopkeeper suddenly shouted. "I'm quite deaf, you know!"

"I'm sorry, but I didn't know!" Snowhammer roared, starting after the old alchemist. The shopkeeper nearly jumped out of his pointed shoes at the sudden outburst. "But I was looking for a young sorceress, a friend of mine, and I thought she might have come this way looking for a potion!" the north man explained, shouting at the top of his lungs.

"I'm deaf, boy, not in Westmarch!" the shopkeeper said, smiling slightly. He paused again, once more appraising the huge north man in front of him. "I don't think I've seen you before. What's your name?"

"Snowhammer," the barbarian replied, dropping his voice again to a normal volume. He paused for a moment, waiting to see if the old man had heard him. "I'm from the north lands."

"With hair that blond, you must be," the old man commented, looking up at the barbarian. "My name is Lysander." The old man paused for a moment, then gestured to the shelves lining the walls. "I own this shop."

"Oh," Snowhammer said, humoring the eccentric old man. "Um, like I said, I was looking for a friend of mine, a sorceress. Have you seen her?"

"Perhaps you'd like to buy a potion," Lysander said, easily changing the subject as he examined a line of bottles set on one shelf.

"How about a love potion," Snowhammer grumbled, displeased with the constant delays.

"What was that?" Lysander inquired, turning back to the north man.

"Nothing," Snowhammer answered. Lysander narrowed his eyes for a moment, then turned back to the shelf.

"Ah, this one would be just right for you!" the old alchemist suddenly exclaimed. Before Snowhammer could say a word, Lysander hurled a round flask over his shoulder in the general direction of the north man. Snowhammer barely caught the potion as Lysander turned back to him. "A potion that will grant you great strength, albeit for a short time. Still, for only fifty pieces of gold, it may save your life!"

"I'm not looking for a potion," Snowhammer countered, frustrated. "I'm looking for a girl!"

"To use the love potion on?" Lysander inquired. Snowhammer's mouth dropped open.

"I thought you said you were deaf," the barbarian said.

"Deaf, yes," Lysander explained. "Dumb, no. You seem very intent on finding this girl. Therefore, I can naturally assume you want a love potion to ply her with." Lysander paused for a moment, then leaned in towards the barbarian and spoke in a confidential tone. "But between you and me, the best love potion is strong wine. Of course, considering the way you look, you've tried that approach already, eh? Perhaps you'd be interested in something to chase away that headache you're probably suffering through would be called for. I have just the remedy, tried and tested by most of the mercenaries in town!"

"Look, can you just tell me if you've seen her, or not?" Snowhammer asked. Lysander considered the north man for a moment, then snatched the potion from his hand.

"I should have made you buy this for the information," the old alchemist said, glaring up at the barbarian. Then his face softened. "But you appear to be in bad enough shape as it is. No, boy, she hasn't been here. Maybe Drognan has seen her, though."

"Drognan?" Snowhammer repeated.

"Yes, Drognan," Lysander repeated. "The sorcerer. I'm the one that's deaf, not you."

"Where can I find Drognan?" Snowhammer asked. Lysander hesitated for only a moment, then smiled.

"Perhaps you'd like to buy a potion," the shopkeeper said again, turning back to the shelf. Snowhammer sighed as he realized that his search for Tara would include a purchase from the old alchemist.

"Give me the strength potion," the barbarian muttered.

****

XXIII

It was well past noon as Xaviar made his way through the crowded mess of stalls and shops in the center of the market, searching out the armorer, Fara, that Hazade had spoken of the previous day. With more than half of the day already gone, the paladin had not seen anything that appeared to even resemble a smithy; while several shops and stalls proclaimed their swords and armor to be the finest in Lut Gholein, none of them were actual forges where the weapons could be made or repaired. Finally, after several futile circuits of the market, the paladin stopped for directions from one of the market vendors. The hawker had simply pointed over Xaviar's shoulder with a grin, directing the paladin to a squat, inconspicuous building that he had passed at least twice during his search. Slowly the paladin crossed the narrow street between the merchant's stall and the smithy, and ducked in through the low doorway cut into the clay wall.

While many smithies proudly presented their finest wares to attract customers, Xaviar found no such display inside Fara's forge. In fact, the front room of the armory seemed to double as a hospital of some sort; jars of salve were stacked neatly in a corner of the room, while clean rags and water appeared set for any kind of emergency. Only along the wall to his right did Xaviar find any weapons or armor, but the armaments were some of the finest he had seen since leaving the northlands. One broad sword in particular caught the paladin's eye, and as he took it from its display rack Xaviar could practically feel the magic humming in its silvery blade and its sapphire encrusted pommel. As the crusader tested the weapon's perfect balance with a quick swing of the blade, a woman appeared from a doorway set into the far wall. For a moment the two regarded each other. If this was indeed Fara, her appearance surprised the paladin. Xaviar had expected her to be native to Lut Gholein, but the woman's relatively light skin and red hair revealed a heritage far more suited to Westmarch or the Rogue Lands than her current surroundings. The armorer's dark eyes lit with recognition as she caught sight of the paladin's stained surcoat and dented and scarred crown shield.

"Greetings, brother paladin," the woman said, smiling amiably. "I am Fara. I was once a devout champion of Zakarum."

"You were?" Xaviar asked, instantly catching the simple phrase. Fara's smile slipped faintly as the paladin replaced the broad sword. "You are not any more?"

"Despite the orders of the High Council, I chose to remain in Lut Gholein," Fara explained, regaining only a fraction of her original cheer. She now regarded her customer with a more suspicious eye. "I felt that it was far more important to remain here than to return to a city full of paladins."

"I see," Xaviar said quietly, uncertain how to react to the statement. Only a month ago, the paladin would never have considered Fara's motives for remaining behind in Lut Gholein; the High Council had ordered the immediate return of all paladins to Travincal, and the High Council was not to be questioned in its wisdom. Even now, a part of the paladin wanted to berate the woman; perhaps, if he, Fara, and others like them had made it home in time, the situation in Kurast would not be so dire. But Kurast was not the only part of Sanctuary overrun by demons, and paladins were sorely needed in Lut Gholein at least as much as in Xaviar's jungle home. Perhaps even now the northern tribes that Xaviar had left behind were falling to demons that the paladin could have stopped had he not tried to make his way home.

"I gather that you're here to have your armor repaired?" Fara inquired, growing faintly uneasy in the long silence. Xaviar snapped out of his thoughts at the words.

"Yes, I am," the paladin said, hastily stepping forward and handing his shield to the woman. Fara examined the steel disk for a moment, then regarded the paladin's splint mail.

"The repairs will take some time," she informed the warrior. "And they will not be cheap. The desert's inhabitants were not kind, I see."

"This should cover," Xaviar said, taking a bag of gold coins from his belt. Fara took the pouch, weighing it in her hand for a moment. "If there is anything left over, put it to my allies' repairs. I suspect they will be by soon enough."

"And if it is not enough?" Fara inquired.

"Then I will see to it that you are paid in full," Xaviar replied evenly. Fara considered the proposal for a moment, but finally nodded.

"I think I can trust you," the armorer concluded, turning back to a vise set behind the rack of weapons. Xaviar set about unbuckling the straps of his splint mail, then set the heavy armor down against the opposite side of the smithy and idly examined the walls, ceiling, floor, and weapon rack in awkward silence. Fara looked up from the vise as the paladin gazed continuously around the room, barely slowing in her work.

"If you wish, you can wait in Atma's public house," the armorer suggested, still banging on the shield. "It is just to the left as you leave the smithy."

"I'm not particularly hungry or thirsty right now," Xaviar replied, returning to the weapon rack. Fara nodded skeptically. For a long moment Xaviar focused on the weapons, noting their fine quality and the traces of magic that seemed to flow through most of them. "You do very good work," the crusader observed, his eyes on the weapons.

"Thank you," Fara said simply. Xaviar looked over to the woman, but for the moment Fara remained unwilling to make idle conversation. Slowly the paladin walked away from the weapons and towards the medical supplies, wishing that the woman would say something more. Finally, with his eyes on the bandages piled on the ground, the paladin tried to rekindle the conversation.

"Have you lost your faith?" Xaviar inquired, cursing his tactless inquiry even as he spoke the words. The steady, almost melodic ringing of Fara's hammer against the shield ended with an off key bang.

"I chose to do my duty to the people here," the armorer explained, keeping her voice even and under control. Xaviar turned back to the woman, to see Fara's eyes lit with frustration. "There are literally thousands of paladins in Kurast, if they have all returned. Here there was only one. Those bandages you see, I use to treat the wounded soldiers and inhabitants of this city and the outlying villages. Compassion and healing have run terribly short around here of late."

"I did not mean to insult you," Xaviar said, trying to repair the damage he had done. "I simply… desired to know why you ignored the High Council's edict."

Fara opened her mouth to speak, but something that she read in the paladin seemed to stop her. Xaviar shifted uneasily, hoping that he did not give away any of his own doubts. His wavering faith was as embarrassing as it was painful. To have a total stranger notice such weakness would be an outright humiliation.

"When I took the mantle of champion of Zakarum, I was told to bring the Light to darkness," Fara said. Although she still obviously tried to defend her actions, much of the hard edge to her voice had disappeared. "Travincal has been bathed in the Light for centuries," she continued. "Returning there would have been contradictory to my vows. I would also be abandoning people that needed me, which I also swore never to do as a paladin."

"But if the Council called all of us back, don't you think they would have a good reason for it?" Xaviar countered, trying to be as tactful as possible. The paladin half expected the armorer to return to her initial defensive posture, but instead Fara's brow knitted in puzzlement.

"The question is the same, but the tone is different," the woman said cryptically.

"I don't know what you mean," Xaviar said.

"It was a young paladin that came to me, almost three years ago," Fara said. "Just as the demons began to appear in the desert. He had come with news that all paladins were to return immediately to Travincal. I told him that I had to remain here. A small village, Qa'tabah by name, had only just been razed by demons, Marauders as we would later learn. He asked the same question you did, but he had been haughty. His question was rhetorical. Your question is not."

"I… just wanted to know why you would question their judgment," Xaviar replied, now almost trying to inject a haughty note into his voice. The odd mixture of tones seemed to do nothing more than to accent his uncertainty, but for the moment Fara seemed oblivious to his problems.

"Like I said, I… I felt like I was needed more here," the woman answered, proceeding carefully. "So, I renounced my paladinhood. The young paladin left without another word. I could almost feel his hatred towards me rolling off of him in waves."

_Hatred_, Xaviar thought. _The Lord of Hatred is imprisoned beneath the High Council's temple…_

"Have you heard of the problems in Kurast?" Xaviar inquired, shifting the subject slightly. The question was relatively safe; almost everyone had heard something about the demonic hordes converging on the jungle nation, even as far away as the Rogue Monastery. Fara nodded slightly, her work forgotten as she talked with the paladin.

"Most people have," Fara answered. "Demons and jungle overtake Kurast, or so the rumors say."

"Then maybe we should have returned," Xaviar said. "They need us."

"All of Sanctuary is under attack," Fara said. "At least, here it seems that way. At night no one ventures outside, for fear that Radament or some other demon will find them. Pooling all of our forces in one place will only doom the rest of Sanctuary to be overrun by infernal hordes. Kurast is the largest Zakarumite stronghold in all of Sanctuary, while Lut Gholein is forced to rely upon cutthroat mercenaries. Ask yourself, which city was in more need of a paladin?"

It was a simple enough question, but one that Xaviar found himself unable to answer.

______________________________________________________

"So this is where you've gotten off to."

"Indeed it is," Wyszemir said, smiling amiably as Stasya walked into Atma's public house. The necromancer straightened slightly as the young woman approached his table, cutting a striking figure among the rough mercenaries and dark skinned women of Lut Gholein. The assassin had abandoned her ring mail and any obvious weapons in favor of an elegant burgundy dress trimmed in black, and had acquired silver earrings and a bloodstone pendant hanging on a silver chain around her neck. Without her weapons and armor, Stasya looked far more like a wealthy lord's daughter, and far less like the assassin she had proven herself to be over the past weeks in the desert. For a moment the necromancer wondered to himself how many men had fallen prey to her disarming good looks. "Do sit down," Wyszemir offered, gesturing to the chair opposite him. "The wine here is quite good."

"Why thank you," Stasya said, sliding easily into the seat that her ally had offered. Despite the fact that the chair sat with its back to the wide, arched doorway of the public house, the assassin did not hesitate or try to find another seat with its back to the wall. Wyszemir picked up one of two ornate red wine glasses set on the circular table, and began to pour Stasya a glass of red wine from the elegant, tear shaped bottle he had bought only a short time ago. "So, were you expecting me?" the assassin inquired, gesturing to the two glasses.

"I supposed that one of my good friends would happen along soon enough," Wyszemir answered. "But I did not expect such a striking appearance. I hope you did not go through the trouble of prettying yourself just for me."

"I could say the same of you," Stasya countered, gesturing to the necromancer's own robes. The necromancer had finally been able to leave his chain mail for a day, instead donning loose robes the color of jet with beautiful silver trim. Wyszemir had been able to abandon all of his gear save Blood Call, the yew wand that he had taken from the Dark Elder in the Lost City. That potent magical weapon remained safely tucked into his black sash. Wyszemir chuckled as he handed Stasya's wine glass to her.

"I do not enjoy wearing chain mail for so long a time," the necromancer explained. "It is far too heavy to be comfortable."

"As is ring mail," Stasya said, swirling her glass carefully. The assassin held the glass under her nose, taking a moment to consider the wine's fragrant bouquet. Wyszemir hesitated for a moment, watching the young woman, until Stasya turned a questioning glance on him. "Is something wrong?" the assassin inquired.

"That's the way a noble drinks wine," the necromancer observed. Stasya shrugged slightly.

"I've been called upon to play many roles," the young woman said. The answer came easily enough, but the assassin seemed just a trifle too eager to throw the glass back and finish her wine in a single gulp. As Stasya placed her empty flute back on the table, Wyszemir picked up the bottle to refill it. "Chambermaid, courtesan, lady in waiting… my work is nothing if not varied. One picks up various quirks along the way."

"So it would seem," Wyszemir agreed, sliding Stasya's full glass across the table to her. The assassin took up her wine, but did not yet take a sip. "Still, I cannot help but wonder what it is that brings someone to such a… disreputable occupation."

"I gather that it would be something akin to the motivations of a necromancer," Stasya countered smoothly, neatly evading Wyszemir's inquiry.

"Come now, we are allies," the necromancer chided, still smiling. Stasya returned his grin with a guarded smile of her own, refusing to let down her guard.

"I imagine that won't be the case for much longer," the assassin replied. "I don't suppose your business here is the same as mine."

"That depends on what your business here is," Wyszemir remarked. "Why have you come to the Jewel of the Desert?"

"I guess you could say gold had something to do with it," Stasya answered, remaining deliberately vague. "But I'm surprised to find a necromancer so far from his home territory. Is it the undead plague that brought you here?"

"I suppose that was a factor," Wyszemir replied, one hand dropping to Blood Call. While the wand was no substitute for the knowledge lost when he had defeated the ancient monster, it was still some compensation for the destroyed lore. Stasya's dark eyes followed the motion, and her smile grew faintly wider as she noticed the weapon.

"So you were after the Dark Elder," the assassin concluded. "Trying to build your own Plague Bearers, is that it?" Wyszemir smiled, but did not confirm the woman's suspicions. It was better to let the assassin draw her own conclusions on his motives. While the Dark Elder and his Plague Bearers were of interest to the necromancer, they were not the ultimate goal of his journey. "And now that you have reached Lut Gholein without that knowledge, where will you go?" the assassin inquired.

"I have not decided yet," Wyszemir answered, wrinkling his brow in a mock pensive gesture. "No, I have not yet decided where to go, now that I have lost all of that knowledge to the sands of time."

Stasya hesitated for a moment, picking up on the faint note of melodrama exactly as Wyszemir had predicted. So the girl was studying him, after all. While the rest of the party had assumed the necromancer and assassin to be allies and confidantes from the beginning, the truth was that they had only met one day before their caravan had been destroyed. Wyszemir himself was still uncertain as to the assassin's motives, or why she was traveling to Lut Gholein when there had certainly been enough corruption in the Rogue Lands for an assassin to make a tidy profit. For his part, the necromancer was no more willing to trust Stasya than she was willing to trust him. Stasya spent a long moment trying to read something in the death mage's face, but then she smiled and took a sip of her wine.

"I suppose none of us will be going very far, with the port closed," the assassin commented. "Unless, of course, you plan on going back out into the desert, that is."

"I have had my fill of the desert, for the time being," Wyszemir said. The necromancer smiled faintly, considering his next misdirection. "But where is this gold that led you here? Knowledge itself does not pay well, after all. Perhaps our alliance could remain intact just a few days more?"

"Perhaps," Stasya said, sidestepping a definitive answer. The assassin drank the rest of her wine, then stood to leave. "But before the sun goes down, my trail of gold leads to the merchant that will buy Icewight the Hunter's scimitar of frost. Good evening, Wyszemir."

"Good evening, Stasya," Wyszemir returned, standing and bowing slightly to his departing guest. Stasya allowed herself a bemused smile at the necromancer's show of formality, then turned and walked out into the streets. Wyszemir watched her go, then sat back down at his table and considered what little he had learned. While she had not let on to the true purpose to her trip to Lut Gholein, the necromancer was beginning to suspect that her mark had been someone in their destroyed caravan.

______________________________________________________

It had been hours since her odd conversation with Drognan, but the old wizard's remarks seemed to replay in her mind for the entire day.

The sun had almost set as Tara reached the wide, arched doorway of Atma's public house, but the young sorceress could barely even remember what she had done with most of the day since her chance meeting with Drognan. The old wizard had known too much about her, it seemed. He had seemed to read her mind, answering questions she had never even asked and attempting to bolster her shattered confidence. With only a few relatively innocuous comments, Drognan had come only a few steps short of stating that Tara's allies in the desert would need her in the battles to come.

Tara shook her head in frustration, as she had done so many times during the day. She wished that she could find the strength Drognan seemed to see her in her, but the sting of Io's loss remained fresh in her mind. She had failed. She had been the one who had run in the tunnels. She had forced Xaviar to abandon Io and Wyszemir in the Maggot Lair. Io's death was clearly her fault, and she could not believe that Xaviar would want her around him in battle after that. As much as she wanted to help the paladin, the thought that she would let him down as she had at the Far Oasis kept her from daring to enter battle again. She was no warrior, and she was certain that Xaviar knew that.

Tara slowly walked into the public house, hoping that a glass of wine and some kind of meal would take her mind from her troublesome musings. She was barely even hungry despite not having eaten since breakfast, but she needed to do something before her thoughts drove her mad with anxiety.

"Tara!"

The voice was all too familiar to her as she heard her name called. The sorceress' eyes snapped up from the floor to see Snowhammer turning away from a pair of Greiz' mercenaries, a faintly inebriated grin on his face as he pulled his tankard from the bar and quickly strode across the floor to her. Tara glanced around her quickly, trying to find another way out of the barbarian's path, but Snowhammer had reached her before she could even turn back to the door.

"Hi," Tara said, forcing a weak smile to her face and trying to keep the disappointment from her voice.

"I've been looking all over for you," Snowhammer said, growing a bit more serious as he picked up on Tara's gloomy attitude. "I, uh… you okay?"

"Yeah," Tara replied, hoping that her lie was not so transparent as she suspected it sounded. Snowhammer hesitated for a moment.

"Was it Wyszemir, or Stasya?" the barbarian asked irritably.

"What?" Tara asked.

"Wyszemir or Stasya," Snowhammer reiterated. "I bet one of them said something to you, right? By the Light, the both of them! I've had it with them! I'm going to pout a stop to them bothering you. Don't you worry about it, by the end of the night I'll deal with them!"

"Snowhammer, I haven't even seen them today!" Tara said quickly, trying to calm the angry barbarian.

"Then, what happened?" Snowhammer asked. "Tara, you're white as a ghost."

"I… it was just… oh, never mind," Tara faltered, unable to think of any way to explain her day to the north man. "I just need a little food, that's all. I haven't eaten all day."

"I'll get Atma," Snowhammer said, putting one massive arm around the sorceress and guiding her to an empty table. "I just met her today, but she's really nice. And she makes excellent food. As long as you like spicy food, at any rate."

"I think someone's sitting at this table," Tara said, pointing to a tear shaped bottle and two empty wineglasses on the table. Snowhammer shrugged.

"They shouldn't have gotten up," the north man said with a grin, easing the sorceress into one chair. Snowhammer motioned back to the woman behind the counter, apparently making his order with only his simple gesture. As the woman disappeared into the back, Snowhammer turned back to the sorceress, quickly growing serious. "Um, Tara, I… we need to talk."

"I… I know I promised I would talk to you today, but… you can wait until tomorrow, can't you?" Tara asked hesitantly. In her present condition, Tara doubted she could handle what she suspected the barbarian wanted to discuss with her. "I… I just need a little time right now."

"You need a little time," Snowhammer repeated, a hint of anger stealing into his voice and eyes. "Would you need time if I was Xaviar?"

"What does that mean?" Tara asked, astounded by the remark. For a second Snowhammer appeared to be on the verge of flying into a rage, but the barbarian quickly brought his anger under control.

"Look, I shouldn't have said that," the north man said, turning apologetic. "But… well, you always side with him, and you're always trying to be around him, and… well, I don't know."

"Snowhammer, I… I side with him because he's usually arguing with Wyszemir," Tara said, suddenly uncertain of the answer herself. "And we've been in the desert for two weeks. There was no one else out there."

"I know," Snowhammer said. "But… you know… you know how I feel about you, right? I mean, I… you really mean a lot to me."

"I… I can't have this conversation right now," Tara said, rapidly beginning to stand. Snowhammer caught her arm quickly, trying to keep her from leaving.

"Tara, please," the barbarian said. "Greiz… Greiz offered me a job. As a mercenary. But if you don't want me to do that, I won't. I'll turn it down, okay?"

"You…" Tara stammered, her mind lost in a haze of conflicting thoughts. "You do what you want," the sorceress finally blurted out with a mixture of confusion, pain and anger. With a last effort she pulled free of the barbarian's grip and rushed out into the darkening streets. Snowhammer watched her go for a long moment, until there was a tap on his shoulder.

"What the hell do you want?" the north man demanded furiously, whirling on the intruder. To his utter surprise, Wyszemir stood behind him, smiling faintly as he gestured to the table.

"You're in my seat," the necromancer replied nonchalantly. Without saying a word to the death mage, Snowhammer threw the chair back and stormed out of the public house in a rage.


	14. Respite of a Sort: Part Two

            Been a while, hasn't it?  Well, between finally installing and playing Dark Age of Camelot (quite possibly the most addictive game known to man), EMT courses, and two inexplicable hard drive crashes within a month, I really lost track of my writing, but I think things are back to normnal now.  Of course, who knows what will happen, since I'll be going to work full time on an ambulance in a matter of a couple of weeks… 

________________________________________________________________

          XXIV 

            The sun had drifted below the horizon almost an hour ago and night had since fallen across Lut Gholein, but Wyszemir still found himself alone inside his shared room at the Desert Rain Inn.

            Wyszemir was certainly not disappointed in the lack of company.  For the first time in weeks, the necromancer had been able to sit down at a rickety desk that Elzix had provided with his arcane tomes and study in peace, without being accosted by Xaviar or Tara for wielding black magic or having to keep one eye open for the devious Stasya.  Neither was the respite entirely unexpected.  Snowhammer's frustration and anger at Tara's implied rejection and his knowledge that Wyszemir had overheard at least part of the conversation would likely keep him in a tavern for the night trying to drink his sorrows away.  Xaviar too had shown changes since their arrival, becoming even more distant and uncomfortable in the group's presence.  While the necromancer could only speculate on the crusader's sudden unease, Wyszemir was certain that it had everything to do with the small, disparate group's remarkable success in the wastelands.  After all, they had slain Coldworm the Burrower, destroyed the Dark Elder, and ended an unnatural eclipse caused by a band of Claw Vipers.  The trials of the desert had forced the band to remain together, but now Wyszemir was more than faintly interested in observing how the paladin would justify, to himself and to the others, any attempt to retain the faint cohesiveness that necessity had forced upon them.

            Wyszemir paused as he reflected upon his last musing.  The uneasy alliance he had struck up with such a polar opposite had been amusing at first; Xaviar was nearly comical in his steadfast beliefs and unwavering zeal, far too inflexible for the pragmatic necromancer to consider him a true asset.  As time wore on, however, the death mage found himself valuing the paladin's tactical knowledge and sheer force of arm; Xaviar was one of the most devastating warriors Wyszemir had ever seen in combat, combining Io's calculating determination and precision with Snowhammer's brutal strength and fury.  If not for the bothersome religious code that hampered him, Wyszemir felt that Xaviar could become one of the greatest warrior lords that Sanctuary had ever known.  And such a man would be a useful ally, indeed.  While title, wealth, and glory were not the goals Wyszemir sought, they could be useful tools for his true purpose…

            Wyszemir looked up as the door to his room creaked open, abandoning his musings for the moment as he appraised the newcomer.  For a brief instant the necromancer was uncertain of the unarmored man's identity, but a smile came to his face as he recognized Xaviar's scowl directed towards the ghostly ball of light floating above the desk.

            "Good evening," Wyszemir said, not bothering to stand as the paladin walked into the room.  The paladin's gait was hardly the confident stride that the necromancer had seen in the desert, but rather an exhausted shuffle. "I see you have finally doffed your armor.  Or were you robbed by the mercenary soldiers that guard this city?"

            "I left my equipment with one of the local smiths to be repaired," Xaviar responded, remaining where he stood at the doorway.  The paladin looked to the only bed in the room for a moment, but made no move to claim it for a second night. "I would suggest you do the same, come morning."

            "Your concern for my welfare is truly touching," Wyszemir said with a faint smirk.  Xaviar closed his eyes and drew in a breath, but made no retort to the necromancer's comment.  For a moment the two men simply watched each other, Wyszemir's smirk still in place in contrast to the paladin's weary frown.  Finally, the necromancer snapped his book shut with a faintly theatrical flair and replaced it in his pack.  Xaviar watched the move carefully, his eyes lingering on the tome until it disappeared from sight. "The subject would not have interested you," Wyszemir explained with a dismissive wave of his hand to the pack.

            "I am certain," Xaviar agreed.  Again the two spent a long moment in silence.

            "If you wish, you may take the bed again tonight," Wyszemir said, patting the edge of the mattress. "I can move my studies to the common room, if you wish to sleep now."

            "I am not tired," Xaviar said.  Wyszemir arched a skeptical eyebrow at the statement; the paladin seemed ready to drop from exhaustion, despite the fact that this had been the first day they had seen in weeks without the stresses of a desert march.

            "As you say," Wyszemir conceded, uninterested in arguing the point.  The necromancer turned back to his desk, idly considering the heavily worn surface.

            "Where are you going from here?" Xaviar asked, almost forcing the question out of his mouth.  Wyszemir smiled faintly as he took on last look at the desktop.

            "Why do you ask?" the death mage inquired, finally turning back to the paladin.  Xaviar exhaled slowly and deliberately, controlling his frustration.

            "Curiosity," Xaviar finally replied. "Or was this your final destination?"

            "I must admit, the city does have its charms," Wyszemir mused, turning slightly to the window to consider the skyline. "But, I suppose it would be possible to persuade me to leave the Jewel of the Desert.  After all, the night life does leave something to be desired."

            "You could be persuaded?" Xaviar echoed.  Wyszemir turned a broad grin on the paladin, but Xaviar appeared far too busy biting his own tongue to notice the smug expression.

            "Perhaps I will see the common room, after all," the death mage said, standing and graciously dropping the conversation for the moment.  After all, there would be plenty of time to ease the paladin into the inevitable question of a more permanent alliance over the next several days.  Wyszemir stopped at the door, and turned back to the paladin. "Perhaps that shifty innkeeper will have found a bottle of wine that is not watered down.  Good night, Xaviar."

            "Good night," Xaviar said, watching as Wyszemir shut the door.  Once outside the death mage paused on the landing, smiling faintly as he considered his situation.

            "Maybe there will be some use for you, after all," Wyszemir whispered to the closed door.

________________________________________________________________

            "So you've made up your mind, and now you want to be one of my men."

            "Yes sir," Snowhammer replied, still having trouble seeing straight in the bright light of the lanterns inside Greiz' office.  Greiz stood from his desk and slowly appraised the north man, circling the far larger Snowhammer for a long moment.

            "You haven't been drinking, have you?" the mercenary captain inquired, stopping in front his new recruit.

            "Not very much, really," Snowhammer slurred out.  The truth was that he had been wandering through the streets of Lut Gholein, downing tankards in any ale house or tap room he could find.  All of the alcohol he had imbibed had reduced much of his vision to a blur, but it had not yet managed to chase away the image of Tara hurrying out of Atma's public house.

            "Not very much," Greiz repeated, thoroughly skeptical of Snowhammer's answer.  The mercenary captain rubbed at his chin for a moment as he considered the barbarian. "It would seem that our definitions of 'not very much' are very different."

            "Give me a watch, and I will do it," Snowhammer promised, nearly stumbling even as he said the words.  Greiz shook his head with a smirk.

            "You may yet join the ranks, north man, but not tonight," the captain said, turning back to his desk. "Tonight, you'll sleep off your drunken stupor."

            "I need a watch!" Snowhammer exclaimed suddenly, grabbing the mercenary by his chain shirt.  A combination of the barbarian's drunken state and Greiz' martial prowess had him on the floor in a heartbeat, the blade of Greiz' scimitar at his throat.

            "Never touch me," the mercenary stated simply.  Slowly Greiz sheathed his scimitar. "You are drunk, north man.  I suggest you leave and come back in the morning."

            Part of Snowhammer longed to lash out at the mercenary captain as Greiz replaced his weapon in its scabbard.  Slowly the north man climbed back to his feet, fighting against the urge to slam his maul into the top of Greiz' pointed helmet.  For an instant the barbarian even began to raise his weapon, but Snowhammer quickly regained control of his faculties.

            "I'll be back in the morning," the north man spat out.  Greiz nodded.

            "I will see you then," the mercenary agreed, gesturing to the door.

            Frustrated and humiliated, Snowhammer stormed out of Greiz' guardhouse and turned unsteadily towards the Desert Rain Inn.  It was well past dark; only a few mercenaries patrolled the streets at irregular intervals, and they seemed to allow the drunken, well armed barbarian a wide berth.  Without any other distractions, the north man found his thoughts wandering back to Tara and their last meeting at Atma's public house.  Over and over he questioned himself.  What had he done that had driven the sorceress away?  He had given her time to mourn her fiancé's death. He had tried to tell her that Io's death had not been her fault.  He had protected her from both the dangers of the desert and Wyszemir's and Stasya's constant jabs.  He had practically become her servant, and yet she was still reluctant at best to even spend time with him.  As the barbarian reached one particularly dark intersection, he stopped for a moment and leaned his head against one of the buildings.

            "What does she want from me?" the north man asked, merely speaking his thoughts aloud. "What haven't I done for her?"

            "Women are fickle creatures," came an unexpected reply.  Snowhammer leapt back quickly, dropping into a sloppy fighting stance with his maul at the ready as he whirled on the voice. "It is ever difficult to understand them."

            "Who are you?" Snowhammer challenged, glaring at the speaker.  The newcomer was a short, swarthy man with long black hair, wearing loose, ebon colored robes that seemed to make him blend into the darkness.  The man's dark eyes lit with humor at the question.

            "Call me Ishmael," the man replied in a smooth, affable voice.  The man took a small pipe from the folds of his sleeve as he talked. "I couldn't help but overhear your… conversation."

            "It was none of your business," Snowhammer growled, reluctantly lowering his maul and forcing himself to relax.  Ishmael smiled at the retort.

            "I am somewhat nosy, I admit," he said, searching the folds of his robe for a moment. "But I also know women.  You, my friend, have made a most fortunate acquaintance tonight."

            "I didn't ask for your help and I don't want your advice," Snowhammer said, shouldering his maul and turning away from the man.  Ishmael seemed amused by the move.

            "Perhaps it is a rival that blocks your path," he called out.  Snowhammer stopped dead in his tracks. "Perhaps your woman, whoever she may be, has been… mesmerized by the force of will of one less… well, less suited to her than a strong, able protector such as yourself."

            "What do you know?" Snowhammer demanded, turning back on the man.  Ishmael now had his pipe between his lips, puffing out clouds of smoke.  Ishmael smiled again, but this time it seemed to be a less amicable gesture.

            "Women sometimes do not realize what they need," the stranger explained, taking a few steps closer to the barbarian.  The tobacco smoke quickly wreathed Snowhammer's head as well as Ishmael continued to smoke his pipe. "They can be flighty, drawn to force of presence rather than true emotion, and are prone to make mistakes when it comes to matters of the heart.  Especially when it comes to the younger ones, the ones that are less experienced."

            "How do you know all this?" Snowhammer asked.  The smoke around him seemed to blur his vision slightly more, and the north man was becoming increasingly lightheaded from the odd aroma of the tobacco.

            "I know women," Ishmael stated again, his smile seeming to stretch his mouth almost as far as his ears.  Snowhammer shook his head, trying to clear his vision, but the stranger's voice seemed to mesmerize him. "A young woman, especially one who has been through traumatic times such as these, needs a strong, firm hand to guide her.  You must take control, Snowhammer.  You must guide her."

            "What… what about Xaviar?" Snowhammer asked, trying to take a step away from the tobacco.  Somewhere in the back of his mind it registered that he had never given Ishmael his name, but the barbarian could not focus enough to voice his concerns.

            "If he is an obstacle, he must be… removed," Ishmael explained, his eyes turning meaningfully to the maul. "She needs your guidance, Snowhammer.  Don't let her down.  You must take control of the situation."

            "Xaviar is… my friend," Snowhammer countered, wiping at the tears suddenly beginning to form in his eyes from the smoke.

            "Is he?" Ishmael inquired.  The stranger's voice began to grow deeper and more sinister.  Ishmael seemed to be moving closer as well, until he seemed to be whispering right into the north man's ear. "He's stealing her from you.  You found her, you helped her, and you protected her.  She is yours by right, but he wants her, as he wants everything.  But he doesn't deserve her.  You do deserve her, Snowhammer.  Take her back."

            "No!" Snowhammer suddenly shouted, taking his maul from his shoulder and swinging blindly in front of him.  The north man fell back a half dozen rapid paces, wiping at his eyes one last time.  His vision returned almost as swiftly as he had lost it, but Ishmael was nowhere to be found.  Only a faint odor of tobacco hung on the air, too indistinct to even tell the direction of the smoker.  For a moment Snowhammer hesitated in the intersection, but finally he resumed his journey to the Desert Rain.

________________________________________________________________

            It was almost midnight when Stasya returned to her room at the Desert Rain, slightly heady from wine shared with almost a half dozen mercenaries at Atma's public house until long past curfew.  While assassin training and discipline tended to frown on alcohol for its ability to cloud judgment and impede coordination, Stasya felt more than entitled to a day of relaxation after her trials in the desert.  Besides, the young assassin justified to herself as she quietly unlocked the door to her room, she had been able to pick up gossip from the mercenaries about the bizarre demon Radament and rumors of why Lord Jerhyn had called his entire guard inside the palace.  The information was of little practical use to the transient assassin, but Stasya nonetheless hoped as she closed the door that somewhere along the line the information might prove a valuable commodity.

            Stasya stopped as she bolted the door, suddenly uneasy in the darkened room.  With the shutters on the single window closed tightly, there was precious little light even for the assassin's trained eyes.  The only sound she heard through the darkness was a muffled grown from Tara as she slept, once again occupying the only bed in the room.  Carefully Stasya put her back against the door, one hand dropping to the folds of her dress where her _kris_ lay hidden.

            Stasya was suddenly slammed back into the door, the wind blasted from her lungs before she could try to react.  Desperately she tried to grab the hilt of her _kris_, but another hand tore the long dagger from its sheath just as her fingers grazed the hilt.  Her own weapon slammed into the heavy door with a loud thunk, nicking her ear and cutting a few loose strands of her hair.  A second blade came to a stop directly under her chin, waves of cold seemingly rolling from the metal to chill her jaw and throat.

            "Petrov," Stasya whispered, her eyes focusing on a blurry outline in front of her.  The blade at her chin quickly disappeared.

            "You are getting sloppy, sweet Stasya," Petrov said, taking a few steps back into the room.  Despite the fact that Tara had been only a few feet away from the brief struggle, the sorceress remained sound asleep. "I don't remember it taking you that long to detect me when we were still together."

            "What are you doing here?" Stasya whispered, still fearful that Tara would wake to find Petrov in the room with them.  Petrov ignored her for the moment as he moved to the window, easing the shutters open to allow the light of the half moon into the chamber. "Answer me, Petrov!" Stasya prompted, still keeping her voice as low as she could.

            "She won't hear us," Petrov said, a smile settling below his thin mustache as he sat back on the window ledge.  Petrov was only an inch or so taller than Stasya, with coal black hair and a thin, wiry build that belied his true strength but hinted at his remarkable quickness.  As the older assassin leaned back into the moonlight, his dark eyes lit up with amusement. "No, she won't wake until morning, at best."

            "I see," Stasya said, allowing her voice to rise slightly as she pulled her _kris_ from the door.  Petrov was nothing if not a master of poisons, but the assassin had developed a number of nonlethal concoctions for prisoners that had to be brought before the Patriarchs of the Viz-Jaq'taar, the Order of Mage Slayers. "Now, what are you doing here?"

            "You mean, I can't just drop by and see how my favorite student is performing?" Petrov inquired, feigning dejection at such a thought. "My dear, sweet Stasya, I thought our time together meant more to you."

            "The mark is dead," Stasya pointed out sternly.

            "But you never killed him," Petrov countered.

            "My apologies," Stasya said. "The demons beat me to it.  If you like, I can return to the desert and kill him again."

            "I don't think that will be necessary," Petrov said, his smile growing slightly.  The older assassin turned to the sleeping Tara. "And what of the mark's apprentice?"

            "She is innocent," Stasya pointed out evenly. "Phinian was the mark.  Not her."

            "But she was his apprentice," Petrov countered. "What if she acquired his corruption, and now seeks to further his fell goals?"

            "She is not tainted," Stasya said. "She may be a naïve fool, but she is not tainted."

            "My dear, sweet Stasya," Petrov said, his voice taking on a condescending tone.  Stasya's mentor turned back to the window, considering the night sky for a moment before he spoke. "You know as well as I do, we are not the judges.  That is for the Patriarchs to decide.  We are merely tools of justice.  It is unwise to form your own opinions on such matters."

            "As you say, it is unwise," Stasya agreed. "And so, until the Patriarchs tell me that Tara is corrupted, I am certainly not supposed to kill her."

            Petrov turned back from the window as he suppressed a chuckle.

            "It surprises me to see you play the barrister," he said with a grin. "But nevertheless, you are right.  The Patriarchs have not turned their eyes on this sweet young girl for the moment.  Rather, I am here to inform you of another mark in this city.  A foul wizard that reeks of the Three's corruption, one who we believe is responsible, at least in part, for the sudden proliferation of the demons in the desert sands.  He is an accomplished wizard and a very cunning man, one who mist be stopped before his taint overcomes the rest of Lut Gholein."

            "He seems to be quite the mark," Stasya said. "What is his name?"

            "His name," Petrov began, his smile turning cold, "is Drognan."

**          XXV**

            The sun was only just beginning to rise, but the whitewashed walls of Lut Gholein and the barren, sandy desert beyond had been replaced during the night by a tiny village in the sparsely wooded foothills of the Tamoe Highlands.  The village was a quaint little community, much like many of the hamlets and towns that dotted the highlands far north of the Rogue Monastery.  Four dozen or so buildings, made largely of rough hewn timbers and thatched roofs, occupied a clearing along the slope of a gentle rise in the highlands, looking almost picturesque in the predawn glow.

            It could have been one of any number of villages scattered through the highlands, but as Wyszemir walked slowly through the silent town he knew exactly which town it was.  Although he had not been there in almost two decades, Wyszemir recognized every inch of Mielec, the village where he had been born and raised.  He could see his own home, silent and dark in the early morning, as he could see the tiny temple to Zakarum that had received so many of the villagers' fervent prayers and the inn that had served as the center of Mielec's social life.  Even after twenty years, the village was as familiar to Wyszemir as the day he had left it.

            Much as the images of his childhood soothed him, however, the silent, still village put the necromancer's nerves on edge.  Mielec had vanished long ago, decimated by plague and destroyed by fire to halt the contagion.  No one had survived the disease and the inferno that had erased Mielec.  Not the tavern owner or the blacksmith, not the village priest or the mayor.  Wyszemir's parents, long claimed by the Red Death, were incinerated in their home; not one person dared to brave entering a home or stable in Mielec for fear of the horrible plague.  From a nearby hill, the frightened men of several nearby villages had fired flaming arrows into the thatched roofs and set light to the grain fields to the north of Mielec, until the conflagration had engulfed the town, the crops, and even acres of forest in every direction.  No one had lived.  Except…

            "Except for you."

            Wyszemir jumped as he heard the simple statement, spoken in an even, low tone from almost directly behind him.  As the necromancer slowly turned, he found himself only a few yards away from a tall figure shrouded in heavy, dull brown robes.  The mere presence of the man sent a shiver of dread through Wyszemir, but the death mage refused to let his fear show.

            "Who are you?" the necromancer asked, regaining his confidence.  His sudden appearance in the long destroyed town meant that he could only be dreaming, and that with enough force of will he could bend the dream to his own desires.

            "You survived," the figure said again, the hood nodding faintly in an apparent gesture of approval. "You somehow escaped the fires of Mielec, and then overcame the Red Death.  Of one hundred twenty-three people, only you survived.  I commend your fortitude."

            "A man, and even a boy, can overcome many obstacles with the proper focus of will," Wyszemir explained, taking pride in what he had accomplished.  It had been no god, no demon, and no angel that had saved him during those dark times.  It had been himself. "But I ask again, who are you?"

            "I am known by many names," the cloaked figure answered, evading a direct answer. "Many people have called me by many different names through times past.  But for those I deem to favor, I can become an exceptional ally, a source of power and a font of knowledge."

            "What is the name that people call you now?" Wyszemir pressed, growing slightly more uneasy in the face of the apparition.  The necromancer had already formed his suspicions as to the man's identity; if proven correct, force of will alone might not be enough to hold the dream in his control.

            "You know the answer," the cloaked figure said, the deep, even voice growing faintly sinister. "You know me better than any of your companions, for even Io in her final moments did not embrace me so much as you did that dark night."

            "Diablo," Wyszemir whispered, taking an unconscious step backward.  Although he could not see the demon lord's face, he was certain that the faint movement of the cloaked figure's hood indicated a diabolical smile.

            "You remember me," Diablo said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "As I knew you would."

            "To what do I owe this honor?" Wyszemir asked, trying to regain his confidence.  The mere presence of the Lord of Terror was enough to strike fear into even the staunchest heroes, and Wyszemir fought with every ounce of his being to hold back his own instinctual fright.  Hidden beneath his robes and heavy cowl, the demon lord remained unreadable.

            "Why, I want you to help me," Diablo replied, as though the answer should have been obvious. "And in return, I will help you."

            "Why would I help you?" Wyszemir asked, sounding as casual as he could. "You are trying to destroy humanity."

            "Humanity has never meant that much to you, Wyszemir," Diablo pointed out. "It is your own life that you care about.  You wish to escape Death's cold embrace.  Those days you spent, hiding in heaps of ash that used to be homes while the Red Death ravaged your body, was as close to her as you wanted to be."

            "And what would you offer me?" Wyszemir asked. "Immortality?"

            "It is what you have journeyed so long to find," Diablo said. "Did it not occur to you that a demon lord might have the power to refuse Death?"

            "You can grant me immortality," Wyszemir concluded.  Diablo nodded. "And what is the cost?"

            "The heart of a paladin," the Lord of Terror answered. "Xaviar's heart.  Bring it to me, and I shall grant your wish.  You will never have to fear oblivion again."

            "It seems a rather… extreme price," Wyszemir observed, mulling over the offer.  While the Lord of Terror was hardly to be trusted, the demon had lived for centuries and had evaded death on a number of occasions.

            "Immortality is hardly cheap," Diablo countered. "It is only one man.  Is it not a reasonable request for the chance to take immortality?  Is it not just to buy your neverending life with that of a man who serves the church that could not help you or your village?  They were the first to die.  Zakarum could not save you.  Your studies for these last fifteen years have not brought you the gift of eternal life, and time is beginning to grow short.  But I can give you that gift.  I can make you immortal.  All I require is Xaviar's heart."

            "A deal with a demon is not something I enter into easily," Wyszemir said, sidestepping a direct answer to the infernal prince.  While the necromancer had no intention of willingly entering into a pact with the Lord of Terror, he felt it was far better to leave his options open than to flatly snub such an entity. "I will need time to consider your proposition, and the possibility of successfully delivering my end of the bargain."

            Diablo said nothing for a moment, but Wyszemir could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as the demon lord pondered his answer.  Finally, Diablo let out a low, sinister chuckle.

            "Ever the cautious one," the demon lord acknowledged, talking a step forward.  Wyszemir held his ground, refusing to show fear to his adversary. "I shall give you your time.  But I shall give you one other item to ponder."

            "And what would that be?" Wyszemir inquired, mustering the last reserves of his courage.  Diablo laughed as he waved one arm out in front of him.

            Wyszemir was still in Mielec, but in the space of a heartbeat the quiet, predawn morning was replaced by the horrifying night that had been the village's last.  Embers swirled about the necromancer as black smoke rolled into the night sky, obscuring the moon and stars while the flames of each house bathed the death mage in its hellish glow.  The fires had already surrounded Wyszemir, nearly setting his clothes alight with its intensity even as the smoke threatened to overcome him.  Quickly, guided by the same instincts that had saved him so many years ago, Wyszemir turned south, hoping to find a way through the inferno that threatened to envelop him.

            Even as he tried to run, however, Wyszemir realized that the conflagration would overtake him.  The death mage's body was covered in red blotches, and his energy faded almost as soon as he had tried to escape the blaze.  The Red Death had already caught him, burning through his bloodstream as the plague robbed him of strength and coordination.  Wyszemir stumbled and fell to the ground quickly, unable to even lift himself back to his feet as the fires began to lick at his arms and legs.  Wyszemir finally got to one knee as his robes burst into flames, sending searing waves of pain through him.  The necromancer finally leapt to his feet with a nearly inhuman scream, racing to escape the fires and the plague…

            "Wyszemir!"

            "Don't touch me!" Wyszemir shouted, jumping up and lashing blindly at whoever had awoken him.  Slowly the necromancer refocused on his surroundings, forcing the images of fire and plague from his mind.  He was back in his room at the Desert Rain, and the first gray lights of dawn seeped through the shutters of their window.

            "You were screaming," Xaviar said, catching the death mage's attention.  Wyszemir turned back to the paladin, bleary eyed from slumber as he knelt over the necromancer with a concerned gaze.  For a moment the only sound in the room came from Snowhammer, flat on his back and snoring faintly on the opposite side of the room.

            "I... am fine," Wyszemir finally said, slowly pushing his blankets away and standing.

            "A nightmare?" Xaviar concluded, watching as his gaunt companion took a step to the shutters.  In the morning light, Wyszemir could see no visible signs of the Red Death on his bare arms.

            "Yes, just a nightmare," the necromancer confirmed, taking his robes from the chair where he had neatly folded them the previous night.  Xaviar hesitated a moment more, waiting for some elaboration, but Wyszemir simply dressed and turned to the door.

            "You will be all right?" Xaviar asked tentatively, stopping Wyszemir as he began to turn the doorknob.  Wyszemir looked back to the paladin, considering once again the bargain that Diablo had offered.  A paladin's heart to escape that which he feared most…

            "I will be fine," the necromancer answered.  Then he turned and slipped out of the room.

________________________________________________________________

            The sun had only just cleared the horizon, casting long shadows from the walls and buildings of Lut Gholein as Stasya made her way through the market square towards the far side of the city.  In only an hour or so the streets would be bustling with merchants and hawkers jostling for space to sell their wares, but for the moment only a few early shopkeepers dotted the winding, sandy streets of the market district.   Despite the fact that large crowds would have better concealed her passage, this morning the assassin was thankful for the vacant streets.  Stasya had abandoned both her armor and her fancy dress in favor of the simple black robes and veil favored by the common women of Lut Gholein, making her nearly invisible to all but the most observant onlookers.

            As Stasya neared her destination, her thoughts continued to turn back to her meeting with Petrov the previous night.  Her one time mentor's appearance in Lut Gholein was as disturbing as it was abrupt.  Assassins worked alone for all but the most dangerous missions, and rarely had contact with another assassin except during times of great need.  While the current crisis and brewing war across Sanctuary certainly qualified the times as extraordinary, something still did not sit right with Petrov's sudden arrival.  The details of her newest job, to assassinate the corrupted mage Drognan, could have easily been sent by other messengers, but instead one of the most trusted assassins in the Viz-Jaq'taar had played courier to his own student.  Was Petrov in Lut Gholein to perform a job of his own?  Or had he come to test his former pupil?

            The latter possibility haunted Stasya the most.  Not only did she worry about failing the Viz-Jaq'taar, but the simple call for a test put her on edge.  The Patriarchs rarely called for tests of established members of the order, and those few that were called were for members that had somehow failed in previous missions or brought suspicion on them by their company or deeds.  Failing such tests also brought about terrible punishments devised by some of the most fanatical and sadistic mage slayers in all of Sanctuary.  Stasya could think of nothing that she had done that could warrant a test of loyalty or skill from the Patriarchs, but Petrov's appearance seemed to indicate that there was something.  Did they suspect her because of her forced alliance with the apprentice of a corrupted mage?  For all of Tara's naiveté, inexperience, and occasional stupidity, she was not tainted by the same dark magics that had taken her teacher.  And how could the Patriarchs have known of her companions so quickly, unless they had already been watching her?  Something was beginning to feel very wrong to the young assassin, but there was nothing Stasya could do except follow the orders Petrov had given her.

            Stasya turned one last corner and carefully began down the alley, putting her troublesome thoughts out of her mind as she slowly made her way towards Drognan's tiny shop.  To the assassin's surprise, the old, white haired mage was already preparing his wares for a day of sales beneath a bright red awning.  While the man did hold a dignified, scholarly air about him, Stasya could see nothing for the moment that marked him as corrupted.  The assassin knew that looks were very often deceiving, but she had expected some mark of taint, however faint, to be evident on a mage that Petrov thought held a great deal of the responsibility for the demons all across the desert.  Still, a job was a job, and assassins were merely instruments of execution rather than arbiters or judges.  Slowly the assassin began to inch forward, feeling for the _kris_ blade hidden beneath her robes, more than willing to conduct the assassination right away in the deserted alley…

            Drognan suddenly turned in her direction, his dark, piercing eyes seeming to focus on her for a long moment.  Stasya nearly froze in her tracks, but forced herself to continue forward, lowering her head as she moved to another shop along the street in an attempt to throw off Drognan's apparent suspicion.  How had the old mage realized her intentions so quickly?  Stasya regarded the wares in front of her for a moment, but turned away just as the vendor came to the door of his shop to greet his apparent customer.  Once again the assassin turned back to Drognan, but in the moment that she had turned away the wizard had apparently disappeared back into his shop.

            Stasya took only one step towards the old wizard's shop before hesitating.  Something about the entire situation began to spook the assassin.  If Drognan had simply gone into his shop for something the assassin would not have felt uneasy, but it was his actions before he had entered that kept her from entering the dark doorway.  He had seemed to know of her presence in the alley and her intentions, and Stasya felt almost certain that the resourceful wizard was planning a trap for her at that very moment.  The assassin had a job to do, but she was not going to walk straight into a fireball or a lightning bolt to do it.

            "The port is closed," Stasya said quietly to the wizard's shop.  She smiled faintly, then turned and started away from the shop. "I have all the time in the world."

________________________________________________________________

            It was just past noon as Xaviar walked into the center of Lut Gholein's market, considering how to treat his next visit with the armorer, Fara.  He needed to retrieve his armor and weapons from the smithy, but his last meeting with the ex-paladin had played havoc with his already shifting beliefs.  Already burdened by the inevitable separation of what few allies he had made during his trek through the desert and facing interminable delays in his return to Kurast, Xaviar had no desire to continue his theological discussion with Fara for the time being.  The crisis facing Sanctuary demanded his complete, unwavering faith in Zakarum; there would be time for theological debate after the war ended.  For the moment, all he wanted was his armor and weapons back, and for a boat to take him across the sea.  The paladin's eyes dropped to the ground as he considered again the problems set before him, problems that seemed to make his fight against the Three an insurmountable obstacle.

            "Xaviar?"

            Xaviar looked up at the hesitant call.  Only a few feet in front of him, Tara hid from the sun under the edge of a hawker's awning, her face pale despite the heat and her eyes slightly unfocused.

            "Tara," Xaviar said, moving to her side. "Are you well?"

            "I just feel a little… nauseous," the sorceress said, shrugging. "Guess it was something I ate.  Or drank, maybe.  What are you doing out here?"

            "My weapons and armor are at the smithy," Xaviar said, nodding in the general direction of Fara's armory. "I was just going to get them."

            "Do you… do you mind if I go with you?" Tara asked. 

            "No, of course not," Xaviar answered. "As long as you fell up to the walk, of course."

            "Well, I don't want to be at the Desert Rain," Tara said with a nervous laugh. "I mean, I have to share a room with Stasya, and… well, Snowhammer… um…"

            "Is there a problem?" Xaviar asked, stopping and turning to the young woman.  Tara stopped as well, turning her eyes to the ground.

            "He… he was just really drunk last night," Tara said. "I… well, he… you know what I'm talking about, right?"

            "I'm not sure," Xaviar replied, trying to follow Tara's hesitant explanation.

            "Well, I… you know he… he really likes me," Tara started, finally growing more direct. "And, I mean, I like him too, but… but not the way he likes me.  Do you see?"

            "I think so," Xaviar said, nodding faintly.

            "Well, I… I kind of told him last night, and he… he was really upset," Tara explained. "I… well, he… he is a barbarian.  He… he wouldn't… do anything, would he?"

            "Do anything," Xaviar repeated, considering the connotation. "No, I don't think he would do anything.  It's natural for a person to be upset when they receive bad news.  I'm certain, I the situation were reversed, you would be upset, but you would eventually accept the fact and move on.  I'm sure Snowhammer will do the same."

            "Well, you… you lived with them, right?" Tara inquired.  Xaviar nodded. "So you would tell me if they were more… um, if they would… do something, right?"

            "He's not going to do anything to you, Tara," Xaviar said, hoping that the young sorceress would not see his evasion for what it was.  While the northern tribes did not, as a general rule, abuse their women, women were anything but equal.  Many tribal warriors were allowed to choose their wives regardless of the bride to be's opinion of her newly betrothed.  And while Snowhammer did not strike the paladin as one to force his will upon the young woman, many of his brethren would not be so understanding.  For her part, Tara breathed a sigh of relief.

            "Thank you," the sorceress said, taking the paladin's arm as they turned back to the armory.  The two had barely taken a step when Stasya suddenly appeared in front of them, smirking behind a translucent veil of red silk.

            "What would Snowhammer say if he could see the two of you now?" the assassin inquired, tossing the veil back onto one of the nearby carts.  Xaviar scowled at the young woman's poor timing and worse etiquette, but said nothing as Tara quickly dropped her hands to her own sides. "And more importantly, what is it worth to you to keep me from… accidentally mentioning it to him over ales at Atma's public house?"

            "Very, very little," Xaviar replied curtly.

            "What are you doing here?" Tara demanded. "Are you following us around trying to make trouble?"

            "It's a market, Tara," Stasya pointed out, gesturing to the stalls and vendors around them. "I came here to buy things.  Don't they have markets where you're from?  And I must say, they have a wonderful collection of silks here."

            "Then go buy some," Tara said coldly. "And stop bothering us."

            "I'm hurt," Stasya said, feigning indignation as she turned to Xaviar. "I see two of my dear, close traveling companions in the local market, and I am not allowed to greet them?  I feel as though I have been terribly slighted!"

            "You have been," Tara confirmed angrily.  Xaviar sighed in frustration as he tried to find a way to defuse the situation, but another voice from the market crowds seemed only to exacerbate the problem.

            "Xaviar!  Tara!  I need to talk to you!" Snowhammer called out, pushing through the crowd to reach the pair.  The barbarian's eyes settled for a moment on the relatively small space separating the sorceress and paladin as he seemed to forget his next sentence.

            "You don't chastise him for coming up to you on the street to say hi," Stasya pointed out.  A sudden, malicious smile came to the assassin's lips. "You don't think I should-"

            "Just shut up, Stasya!" Tara snapped, taking an angry step towards the assassin.

            "Ah, and what to my wandering eyes should appear," yet another person said.  Xaviar dropped his eyes to the ground in disgust, not even having to turn to the speaker to know that Wyszemir had somehow found his way to the group. "Are we all doing some shopping today?"

            "A chance meeting, is all," Stasya said, turning a meaningful smile on Tara and Xaviar.

            "Bad luck, is all," Tara grumbled under her breath.

            "What was that?" Stasya inquired, turning back to the sorceress.

            "What was it you wanted to say, Snowhammer?" Xaviar asked quickly, trying to divert the women's attention from their near inevitable fight.

            "Yeah, Snowy," Stasya asked, turning a bright, thoroughly false smile to the north man. "What is it that brought you here today?"

            "Well, I…" Snowhammer started glancing around nervously as the other four turned to him. "I figure, we're stuck in Lut Gholein for a while, and I figure we'll need to make money somehow.  I mean, Elzix is charging a lot of money for the rooms, and Xaviar's money won't last forever.  So, I… I'm going to take Greiz up on his offer, and… well, serve as a mercenary."

            "A mercenary?" Tara repeated, stunned by the revelation.  Snowhammer's eyes widened at the disapproving note in the sorceress' voice, but could not find his voice. "I… you… a mercenary?"

            "I'm protecting Lut Gholein!" Snowhammer finally countered, quickly taking the defensive. "It's not like I'm joining some mercenary army to besiege another city!"

            "But… a mercenary?" Tara repeated, seemingly unable to digest the statement.

            "Yes, a mercenary," Stasya reiterated, her voice growing slightly derisive. "You know, fights for money?  Owes his loyalty to the gold coin?  Raze any town for the appropriate fee?

            "Shut up, Stasya!" Snowhammer shouted, turning furiously on the smirking assassin.

            "I guess no one's as perfect as you think they are," Stasya quipped, ignoring the north man and speaking to Tara.  The sorceress' face flushed with anger.

            "You egocentric, stuck up bitch!" Tara practically screamed.  Stasya's smirk dropped into a snarl, but before she could snap out a retort the sorceress continued. "You heartless, cold blooded murdering whore!"

            "Watch who you're calling whore, you self righteous little baby!" Stasya shot back, pushing her way into Tara's face.  Snowhammer quickly tried to step between the two, but he was already being caught up in the fight.  Xaviar watched helplessly for a moment as the three youngest members of his once coherent band edge rapidly toward physical violence, but jut as Stasya's hand shot down to a well concealed blade and Tara's hands raised to cast a spell, a final, grandfatherly voice froze each of them in midmotion.

            "Hello, my friends.  Stay a while, and listen!"


	15. A New Mission

**XXVI**

Tara froze as she heard the voice behind her, all thoughts of the ice blast that she had been prepared to cast fleeing from her mind. The sorceress had heard that voice once before, when she had first reached the Rogue encampment in the Tamoe Highlands, but she had never expected to actually see that man again. Slowly the young woman turned to the speaker, her hands dropping to her sides as she stared in shock at the newcomer. He was old, to be certain, and dressed in a simple, hooded brown robe, but his kind blue eyes held a wisdom and vitality that transcended the human norm. Those eyes seemed to hold Tara fast, allowing her to do nothing more than gape at the powerful figure before her. The sorceress' friends also seemed to be entranced by the newcomer's presence, but Tara barely recognized their existence around her.

"Deckard Cain," Tara breathed out, barely able to believe that the legendary wizard had somehow reached Lut Gholein. After facing the unforgiving desert and the cruel demons that now inhabited the rocky wasteland, the sorceress had been convinced that she and her friends had been the only ones to reach Lut Gholein alive since the Rogue Monastery had been overrun. Somehow, Deckard Cain had survived the deadly wilderness.

"Yes, I am Deckard Cain," the old wizard acknowledged, smiling warmly at the young woman. "I hope I did not disturb you by my presence."

"No," Tara said. The sorceress' mind worked furiously as she tried to regain her composure. "No, no, not at all, no! I mean, we were… I've traveled so far to find you!"

"You have?" Deckard Cain asked, looking almost surprised by the admission.

"Yes, we…" Tara began. She trailed off as she remembered the trials of the desert and Phinian's death. "I… Phinian is dead."

"Phinian," Cain repeated, a trace of sorrow coming to his voice and his eyes. "I do not recall a Phinian, but I mourn his loss. By your sadness, I know he must have been a good man."

"He… he wanted so much to find you," Tara said quietly, her eyes filling with tears as she continued. "He… he had uncovered ancient knowledge, something he thought you could help him understand. But… but he wouldn't… he feared it would…"

Tara broke down into tears, unable to finish. Slowly Cain took a step forward, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"You mustn't fear for Phinian any more," the old wizard said quietly. "Phinian is safe within the embrace of the Light of Zakarum. I suspect that even now he is watching over you, and he will always be with you."

Tara nodded, straightening and fighting back her tears. Cain gave her another moment to gather her composure, then turned to Xaviar.

"I too expected to meet an acquaintance here," the old wizard began, "a paladin who traveled with his squire and several companions, including a north man."

"Salvian," Xaviar concluded. "And his squire, Petronus. They… they did not survive the desert."

"Terrible news, indeed," Deckard Cain decided, turning away from the group as he considered the information. "Indeed, this is a blow against all Sanctuary. It was Salvian who pledged to me that he would not rest until the Three were driven from our world, but with his loss, I fear all of Sanctuary will suffer a terrible price. What you see here in Lut Gholein may only be the beginning of a terrible end for this realm."

"Salvian may be dead, but other paladins of Zakarum are still alive," Xaviar declared, stiffening with pride. Tara looked back to the paladin, seeing the fatigue and emotional weariness replaced with a newfound determination and nobility. The sorceress opened her mouth on instinct, ready to follow the paladin to the gates of Hell if necessary, but quickly her own fears and doubts resurfaced. Tara fell silent before she could pledge her aid, fearful that her courage would falter at a crucial moment and cost the paladin his life. "I will take up the fight for my fallen comrade. I will stop the Three."

"But you are only one," Deckard Cain said, stealing Tara's focus away from the revitalized crusader. "Your courage is admirable, but I fear that it will not be enough to save you against the Three if you travel alone."

"He won't be alone," Snowhammer put in quickly, taking a step forward and puffing out his own chest with pride. Although the words were directed to the old wizard, Tara immediately felt the north man's eyes on her. Snowhammer looked away from her quickly and refocused on Deckard Cain, but Tara could see his hope that she would be impressed in his eyes.

"Two are better than one," Cain reasoned, considering the two men. "I grant you, your chances are better, but the road may still become too difficult."

"Well don't look at me, sorcerer," Stasya put in, sounding almost angry with the conversation. Tara turned to the assassin, stunned by her remarks, but could not bring herself to reproach her one time ally. "If you are such a powerful wizard, why aren't you ready to go out there and help? Where were you when Salvian and whoever his squire was were killed in the open desert? I'm not going to be used and left for dead like they were."

"Perhaps I will join this expedition," Wyszemir put in, only a heartbeat before Xaviar could turn on Stasya. The assassin's crass remarks had been astounding enough, but the necromancer's sudden decision to continue a journey that he had opposed from the beginning made Stasya's remarks fade into the background.

"You?" Stasya asked, turning to the death mage in shock.

"I suppose there would be certain… rewards for the destruction of the Three," Wyszemir mused, stroking his chin pensively. "Perhaps not from the Zakarumites, or Prince Jerhyn, but I am certain that three demons of such power could assume vast… treasures."

"Treasures you would never live to see," Stasya countered venomously. "It's a fool's errand! A suicide run! Those two I'm not surprised at, but you?"

"Hush, child," Wyszemir said, a faintly stern edge to his voice. "Do not presume to know so much as you think you do. I am certain a man such as Deckard Cain would not lead us to certain death."

"Three warriors," Deckard Cain said, overlooking the events within the small band. Tara glanced around at the others, but then turned back to Deckard Cain as she found the man looking expectantly at her.

"I…" the sorceress faltered. She swallowed hard, trying to answer her own concerns and the old wizard's implied question. Her four companions watched her as well, increasing the pressure on her to fight down her own indecisiveness. "I don't know," was all Tara could manage. Deckard Cain smiled slightly, but the faint expression seemed to help ease Tara's nerves.

"It is a big decision," the old wizard said. "This journey is not to be undertaken lightly, to be certain. All manner of tasks must be undertaken to defeat the Three, not all of which require strength of arms or might of magic. You must all be warned that this is, indeed, a daunting task you face, and we must move quickly. Salvian and his companions were slain because they posed a threat to find the Tomb of Tal'Rasha, where the Lord of Destruction, Baal, has been imprisoned for centuries. We must find the tomb and stop the Dark Wanderer from freeing Baal."

"The Dark Wanderer," Xaviar repeated. "He is Diablo?"

"Yes," Deckard Cain answered quietly. The old wizard paused for a somber moment before continuing. "He has overtaken the warrior that imprisoned him, and now seeks to free his brothers. I feel that the Paladins of Zakarum were recalled to Travincal to marshal their forces and guard Mephisto, but Diablo and Baal together may be too much for even the High Council and the ranks of paladins to face. We must stop Diablo now, while he is weak and his brothers are still trapped in their prisons."

"Where do we begin?" Xaviar asked, ready to immediately undertake the quest. Deckard Cain considered the question for a moment.

"We must find two things," the old wizard began. "First, we must assemble a Horadric Staff, the key to unlocking Baal's tomb to destroy the soulstone within. If we can destroy the soulstone, Baal will be banished into Hell with no hope of return. And secondly, we must find Horazon's Sanctuary, for only in that mystic library will we find the location of the Tomb of Tal'Rasha itself. The Valley of the Magi is littered with many tombs, and more are rumored to be hidden beneath the sands."

"We start with the staff," Xaviar decided, taking charge of the situation quickly. "Where can we find a Horadric Staff?

"Alas, the staff was broken into two pieces, and the parts lost to time," Cain explained. "The headpiece was believed to have been stolen by Claw Vipers, while the shaft, which came to be known as the Staff of Kings, disappeared entirely into the desert many years ago."

"The Staff of Kings?" Tara repeated, astonished. "We… we have the Staff of Kings!"

"And what about the amulet we took from the Claw Vipers in that old tomb?" Snowhammer added, growing eager himself. "We may have the staff already!"

"The Light shines upon us today," Xaviar said, allowing a faint smile of relief. "If we do indeed have the pieces, can you restore the Horadric Staff?"

"Not without a Horadric Cube," Cain answered. "But you have found the most difficult pieces of the staff already. The Horadric Cube may be very close; its last known location was within an ancient crypt known as the Halls of the Dead, somewhere in the Dry Hills. Once we have the Cube, we can use its power to recreate the Horadric Staff from the pieces that you have already gathered."

"The Halls of the Dead," Wyszemir said wistfully. "I think I am glad that I decided to continue this journey."

"Even with the Cube, it will be no easy task, for the lore of its magic has been lost for many decades," Cain said. "I am sure that, given time and study, I will be able to unlock the Cube's secrets and restore the staff."

"Then we will find the Cube, and you will find the lore," Xaviar decided. The paladin's determination and focus were almost infectious to Tara, but even as she opened her mouth to finally offer her help Stasya interrupted her.

"You do that," the assassin said, her cold tone growing almost mocking. "You go tramping off through the desert, getting yourselves killed for some old bat who couldn't even keep himself from getting captured by a few Carvers! You four have fun, but I'll have nothing more to do with this!"

"We'll be better off without you!" Snowhammer retorted furiously, turning on the assassin. Stasya laughed.

"I'm sure you will be, barbarian," the assassin countered, practically spitting the word out as a curse. Stasya turned easily and started away into the market. "By time you realize that I was right, you'll be nothing more than bleached bones on the desert sands. Or maybe you'll be demons yourselves! Good riddance to all of you!"

"That little bitch!" Snowhammer spat, taking a step after the assassin. Xaviar grabbed the north man by the arm quickly, stopping Snowhammer before he had taken more than a step.

"Leave her go," Xaviar instructed. "She is not our concern. The three of us have far more important things to worry about."

"Four of us," Tara said, hoping she did not sound quite as timid as she thought. Cain and her friends all turned to her. "I'll help."

* * *

"It's so stupid! So, so stupid!"

She had traveled the entire distance of the market, shoved her way through crowds and nearly knocked over a half dozen vendors' stands, but still Stasya found herself glancing furiously behind her. The idea to go after the Horadric Cube was moronic in the most basic sense to her; they had traveled for weeks to escape the desert, and now Xaviar was going to lead them all back out into it? All on the word of a wizard who, as far as reputation was concerned, should have been able to stop the destruction in Tristram and the Rogue Lands? The very idea defied Stasya's logic, and she would not be the puppet of any sorcerer, good, evil, or otherwise.

Still, Stasya found herself looking back repeatedly, hoping despite her better judgment that one or more of her former friends would appear to try to persuade her to join the cause. It was that simple fact that caused the assassin so much pain; she needed no one, not in her past and not now. She was an assassin, a member of the feared Viz-Jaq'taar, and not some helpless little sorceress, preachy paladin, or unruly, grandstanding barbarian.

"They're just going to get themselves killed," Stasya huffed, turning back to the dusty streets in front of her. "And then that'll prove that I was right, anyway."

"Yes, but it doesn't bring us closer to the ultimate goal," Petrov said, suddenly appearing next to the young assassin. Stasya jumped back and nearly drew her _kris_ on the man, but her mentor simply smirked in return.

"What are you doing here?" Stasya demanded, growing even more frustrated, angry, and nervous in front of her fellow assassin.

"I wanted to keep you on the path," Petrov answered. "I'm trying to keep you focused on your mission. Forget your one time friends. Paladins and necromancers? They are nothing but trouble. And the apprentice of a corrupted mage… better you forge no ties with her, because some day you may be the one to hunt her down."

"Well thank you for the advice," Stasya huffed, beginning to turn away from her mentor. Petrov grabbed her by the arm before she could leave.

"Drognan is still alive," the older assassin remarked.

"Very perceptive," Stasya retorted.

"Is there a problem?" Petrov inquired. "I thought you would have finished your assigned task by now. He is not hard to find in this city. In fact, your little friend Tara has already made contact with him."

"He's going nowhere," Stasya countered. "I have all the time I need to kill him. I'm not going to rush into a trap. I thought you knew me better than that."

"I do, I do," Petrov admitted, feigning admonishment. Then the older assassin grew more serious, and his features took on a hint of concern. "But, there may be other reasons to hurry."

"What are you saying?" Stasya asked, her mind nearly locking up with fear. Petrov had all but admitted to a test by the Patriarchs, the very thing that had worried Stasya since their first meeting.

"I'm saying you might want to hurry," Petrov said, refusing to answer his pupil. Then he forced the anxiety from his face. "Besides, I thought you joined us because you wanted to destroy mages."

He had not said it with any inflection, or even raised his voice, but the word _destroy_ seemed to echo through Stasya's mind for a long moment, robbing her of coherent thought as she began to fill with bloodlust. Fleeting visions of a fireball streaking through a hallway of arched stone and burning tapestries blotted out the market for a brief instant, but Stasya quickly forced the unwelcome memories from her mind. In the time she had taken to right her senses, however, Petrov had disappeared back into the crowds.

"Petrov!" Stasya shouted, spinning quickly as she tried to locate her mentor. The assassin took several steps toward the alleys along the edge of the market, then turned back towards the center, but Petrov had long since vanished, leaving his one time student with a host of questions and a newfound sense of confusion. Stasya shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts and decide on a definite course of action, but only one path seemed open to her in the wake of Petrov's disturbing comments.

She had to destroy Drognan, and soon.

** XXVII**

"Why are you doing this?"

The question was completely expected. In fact, the only question in Wyszemir's mind had been who would ask him first. Now, as Xaviar tried to read the necromancer's features in the failing late afternoon light as they stood inside their shared room, the paladin had proven Wyszemir's expectations correct.

"Would it appease you to say that I am doing this for the benefit of all Sanctuary?" the death mage inquired, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked to the window of their room. The room fell quiet for a moment as Wyszemir looked out to the western horizon, taking the silence as an opportunity to study the elegant minarets that comprised the city's skyline. Behind him, Xaviar was no doubt wrestling with the question of whether or not he should try to call the necromancer on what to Wyszemir was an almost deliberately transparent lie.

"I'd like to believe that," Xaviar finally said, apparently trying to be tactful. Wyszemir could feel an amused smile tug at his lips as he continued to gaze out at the city. "But I cannot help but remember your unwillingness to help the caravan in the desert. What brought about such a change of heart?"

"I have my reasons," Wyszemir answered, finally turning to the paladin. Once again the necromancer could not help but smile, but this time the irony of the situation was his source of amusement. After coming face to face with Diablo in his dreams, Wyszemir had decided to remain close to the paladin, and for good reason. If the Lord of Terror decided to take umbrage at the death mage's refusal to accept his bargain, Wyszemir wanted to be near powerful allies that could aid him against the demon. And, of course, if at some point the deal seemed to truly promise immortality for the simple cost of one paladin's heart, or if he needed the paladin's sacrifice to preserve his own life…

"I can't approve of your methods," Xaviar said, pushing the conversation forward as Wyszemir considered his own motives. "But I also cannot deny your skill or effectiveness. The only reason I'm agreeing to work with you is because I need you, Wyszemir."

"Why, Xaviar, I was unaware of how deep your affections for me ran," Wyszemir said, his smirk growing broader by the second. The death mage knew that his religious companion was nearly choking on the words as he spoke them, and to hear the crusader profess his need for such a rogue element as a necromancer, was entertainment enough for him. Seeing Wyszemir's amusement at the situation, Xaviar turned quickly and started back for the door.

"I'm going to check on Snowhammer and Tara," the paladin said hastily, his discomfort obvious. "Take the bed and get some sleep. We leave first thing in the morning."

Wyszemir nodded, his smirk still firmly in place, but Xaviar had left the room almost as soon as he had finished speaking. For a moment the necromancer watched the door, then turned back to setting sun as his thoughts wandered to the possibilities of his bizarre alliance.

"It should be an interesting journey, indeed," the death mage said to himself as he turned from the window.

* * *

Going back to her room seemed to be out of the question, but for the moment the streets were not a welcome option to her.

Stasya had spent much of the day hiding inside the common room of Atma's public house, trying to sort through the bewildering events of the day one more time. Cain's appearance after a "chance" meeting between all five members of her one time traveling band might have simply been coincidence, but assassins were trained not to always accept such odd occurrences as pure chance. Had Deckard Cain somehow deliberately summoned all five of them to him? Had someone else manipulated the event? Or could it be pure chance? While the meeting might have been written off as coincidence, Wyszemir's decision to remain with the others, most notably Xaviar, had stunned the assassin and made the meeting even more suspect. Had Cain somehow manipulated the necromancer's mind? Or was Wyszemir hiding some other agenda that he thought he could further with the help of his mortal enemy, the paladin of Zakarum? If the former was true Cain was not to be trusted, and like any corrupt mage, would have to be dealt with accordingly. If the latter was true, Stasya could not think of anything that Wyszemir could possibly need from Xaviar. Was the necromancer secretly an infernal agent? Was Wyszemir as corrupt as Phinian, Tara's mentor and lover, been? Something felt wrong with the situation, but as with everything else since her arrival in Lut Gholein, Stasya could not pinpoint the source of what she felt. And to top it all off, for some reason she was furious that none of her traveling companions had sought her out to try and convince her of the necessity of their mission. Childish as it sounded, their ignorance of her since she had left was practically driving her insane

Of course, the problems with her former allies faded to nothing when compared to her standing with the Viz-Jaq'taar.

Stasya glanced around her again, once more assuring herself that none of the shadowy order of assassins had followed her into Atma's public house. Petrov was obviously somewhere in the city, eager to see her finish her assigned task of killing Drognan. But while Petrov had made his presence known to her, how many other assassins were hiding in the city to judge her? Would Petrov even stand by her if the other assassins demanded her blood in recompense for some real or imagined wrong? Would she have to run again, after she had just begun to grow truly comfortable with her role as an executioner? Just as she had begun to appreciate destroying the corruption that seemed so inherent to magic users?

A gentle touch to her elbow nearly had the assassin out of her seat. Stasya whirled and dropped her hand to her _kris _as she started to rise_,_ but stopped as she was confronted by a pair of dark eyes looking up at her. For a moment she could do nothing but stare into the wide, dark eyes of the child in front of her, her blade frozen halfway out of its scabbard.

"Sergei?" Stasya breathed out. As soon as she had spoken the name, however, she knew she was wrong. While the child standing before her certainly had eyes that resembled her brother, Sergei had not been nearly so dark, and his hair a coarser black. And while the child before her was four or five, as Sergei had been before his death, that had been almost five years ago…

"I'm so sorry," a large man said, hurrying from behind the bar of the common room to Stasya's table. The assassin managed to tear her eyes from the little boy next to her as the bartender approached her. "Sometimes Faraj can be a little too curious with newcomers."

"No, I… it's okay," Stasya said, glancing back to the boy. Faraj backed up to the man's knees, his dark eyes now on the _kris_ that Stasya still had half drawn. Slowly the assassin slid the blade back into its sheath, forcing a smile to her face. "He… just startled me, is all."

"I could see," the bartender said, his own eyes watching the blade as Stasya replaced it. The man hesitated for a moment. "Of course, with things as they are in the city, I can't blame you for your caution."

"I… well, I'm sorry if I startled you," Stasya said, turning a weak and embarrassed smile to the bartender. "Is… is he your son?"

"Yes, he is," the bartender answered.

"He's adorable," Stasya said, leaning down in her seat towards the boy. Faraj backed away slightly. "It's okay, Faraj," Stasya said gently. "You just startled me before. My name is Stasya."

"Say hello, Faraj," the boy's father said, gesturing towards the assassin. Faraj hesitated a moment, but finally shook her hand.

"Hello, Stasya," Faraj said.

"Okay Faraj, you've taken up enough of the nice woman's time," the bartender said, gently leading Faraj away from the assassin. Stasya watched as the two disappeared back into the rooms behind the bar, lost in half forgotten memories until another voice brought her back to reality.

"You've barely touched your wine," Atma, the tavern's owner, said as she reached Stasya's table. "Are you well?"

"I'm… fine," Stasya replied, forcing her mind back to the present. The assassin hesitated a moment. "Actually, I could use a place to stay for the night, if you know any place other than the Desert Rain. The quarters there are… a little close."

"Well, we do have one room," Atma replied. "But it is very small, and we're using it for storage right now. Other than that, the Desert Rain is the only place I know, and even Elzix is having problems fitting in all his customers. What other inns are still in town are also full."

"I can pay for lodging," Stasya said eagerly, growing more upbeat as she thought of the opportunity to not only escape her companions, but also be near Faraj. "I don't mind a small room, even if you are using it as storage."

"Well, we don't usually rent out rooms here," Atma said.

"I'll pay whatever you think is fair and you don't have to clean it up," Stasya put in quickly. Atma hesitated for a moment, but finally nodded.

"The room is yours," the woman said. "Dahwar can show you where it is."

"Dahwar?" Stasya repeated.

"My husband," Atma said. "I believe you just met him and our son, Faraj."

"Oh, yes," Stasya said, standing from her table. "Just give me a few minutes to get my things, and I'll be right back."

* * *

The problem had plagued him all day long, but at least it was a more tactical problem that faced him now.

Xaviar had deliberately taken a long, winding route to the corner of the marketplace where Deckard Cain had said he would be, eating up the last hour of daylight in his wanderings as he tried to come to a decision about the composition of his group. He was certain that Snowhammer would be fine in the battles to come, at least in spirit; the north men were taught to fight from birth, and most saw battle by the time they reached their fifteenth winter. Despite his occasional tendencies to charge headlong into battle without thought for his safety, the barbarian had acquitted himself well in the desert over the past weeks. Wyszemir too was thoroughly prepared for the horrors of battle; necromancers were said to thrive on pain and misery, and both were in plentiful supply in the wastes outside of Lut Gholein. The necromancer was also a capable warrior with a devastating repertoire of spells, and despite the fact that Xaviar hated to rely on such blasphemous magic, Wyszemir was a force to be reckoned with on the field of battle.

The paladin's thoughts were focused squarely on Tara. The youngest, least experienced member of the group was more of a student of magic and lore, not a hardened battle mage. Already the sorceress had suffered immensely during their journey. She had lost her betrothed, been thrown unprepared into the horrors of demonic warfare, and, the paladin was certain, still held herself accountable for Io's death. After all that she had been through, Xaviar was uneasy at the prospect of leading her once more into the desert to face the Lord of Terror's minions, fearing that it would break the girl's spirit completely and rob her of her innocence too soon.

The paladin turned another corner, finally finding himself in sight of the old sage standing only a block from Atma's public house and Fara's smithy. Deckard Cain was currently talking with another man, but as the paladin came within sight of the two the white bearded, elegantly dressed man instantly turned to Xaviar as if expecting the warrior to appear. Before Xaviar could use the staff bearing man as an excuse to put off his conversation with Cain until later, the sage's companion said a final word to the Horadric sorcerer and disappeared into the evening market crowd. Deckard Cain turned a smile on the paladin as Xaviar hesitated, waving a hand to invite the paladin over. With a final sigh, the crusader dropped his eyes to the ground and made his way to the old sage.

"Good to see you," Deckard Cain said as Xaviar reached him. "Although truth be told, you do not look so happy to be here yourself. It is a great burden you have taken upon your shoulders, paladin, but I am confident that you will succeed in your task."

"I appreciate your faith in me," Xaviar said, forcing out a smile. "But I have… a request to make of you before we leave in the morning."

"Ah, yes, of course," Cain said, nodding. "Have you found some magical weapons during your journeys that you have not been able to identify?"

"Well, we've discovered the magic of our new equipment through trial and error," Xaviar started, "but that was not what I wanted to ask you about. I… well, it's about Tara."

"Ah," Cain said with a second nod. "A very nice young lady, with a good grip of the magic arts."

"Um, yes," Xaviar said. "A good grip of magic. But… she has not seen much combat. While I appreciate her willingness to help us, I an uneasy with risking her life in combat again."

"You care very much for her," Deckard Cain assumed. Xaviar nodded.

"I don't want to see her hurt again," the paladin explained. "She has suffered enough already. Of all of use, she was the only one that started this journey with any innocence, and I don't want to see it shattered. She's a scholar. Perhaps she could help you decipher how to work the Horadric Cube, once we find it?"

"Your concern for her welfare is admirable, Xaviar, but are you so certain that you should decide what is in her best interest?" Cain inquired.

"I don't want to decide what's best for her, but I just… well, I don't want to se her get hurt any more than she already has," Xaviar countered. "She may feel that she's obligated to stay with us, or she may feel guilty over what happened in the desert and have to make up for it, and I don't want to see her get hurt because of that."

"What did happen in the desert?" Deckard Cain inquired.

"You have met five of us, but six of us began the journey through the desert," Xaviar explained. "Io, an Amazon and a fine warrior, was slain beneath the Far Oasis in battle with Coldworm the Burrower. I believe that Tara may yet blame herself for Io's death. She… she panicked and ran when we were attacked by Black Locusts, forcing us to split up. As a result, Io and Wyszemir met Coldworm without our help, and she was killed in the battle."

"I see," Cain said, lowering his eyes slightly as he considered the information. "Still, some of the greatest warriors of Sanctuary have come from such inauspicious beginnings. And if we do not win this war now, Tara's innocence will be of no importance to the demons that will destroy Sanctuary. Tara is involved in this affair by her own choosing. It is not for you or me to decide her role. I feel she understands the situation better than you think."

"I see," Xaviar said quietly. The paladin considered pushing the matter further, but in the end the Horadrim was correct. It was Tara's decision to make in the end.

"However," Deckard Cain continued, "Drognan, the man that I was speaking to when you first arrived, is in need of a scholar's help to research the ancient tomes that could lead us to the Arcane Sanctuary. He will speak with her in the morning, and if she so chooses, she will remain behind to help Drognan in his research."

"Thank you," Xaviar said. "Even a temporary respite from this war would help her. It will give her time to cope with her losses."

"You are welcome," Cain said with a bit of a smile. "Now curfew is fast approaching, and you have a long journey ahead of you. My suggestion is that you take rest now, while you have the opportunity. Tomorrow promises to bring many new trials."


	16. Radament

**XXVIII**

The sun had not yet cleared the horizon as they gathered at the north gate of Lut Gholein. Deckard Cain had been waiting for them as they arrived, each one coming separately despite the fact that they had shared the same room. Xaviar, of course, was first, dressed in his newly repaired and oiled splint mail. Even his precious scepter had been cleaned and polished, making the paladin seem even more regal and commanding than he had ever been. Wyszemir came second, once again in his dull black chain mail and carrying Blood Call loosely in his hand. The necromancer had not found a replacement for his bone shield yet, but the potent necromantic artifact he now carried as a weapon seemed to compensate for the lack of defense. Xaviar did not greet Wyszemir as the gaunt necromancer arrived at the gate, but neither did he turn away from his ally. Snowhammer finally met his two allies at the gate, showing up only moments before the first rays of the sun struck the tallest minarets of the city. Deckard Cain addressed each of them in turn, then stood aside to let the men leave the city.

"So where the hell is Tara?" Stasya asked out loud, though no one was near her to answer the question. The assassin had been the first to reach north gate, but she had carefully selected a spot on a neighboring rooftop to watch her one time allies leave the city. The assassin was thoroughly convinced that her former companions had committed themselves to a fool's errand, but even now it bothered her greatly that no one had even bothered to stop her from leaving the Desert Rain, much less try to convince her to join them once more. The assassin had told herself repeatedly that she did not need the others, but although she would never admit it to them, she had found herself growing comfortable with their company, however annoying the others could be. Assassins were loners by nature, but it was starting to seem like Stasya was not so much the loner as she considered herself to be.

However much the thought of losing the closest things to friends that she had gained since Petrov had released her from apprenticeship bothered her, however, Stasya had not come to spy on the others simply because of her own childish insecurities. Rather, the assassin worried that they would try to interfere with her mission to destroy Drognan, and Tara was the most likely person to appear in her way. Assassination was a delicate thing, and there was no room to question orders when the Patriarchs demanded a corrupted mage's destruction. Too often the corrupt mages were able to hide their taint, and Tara had already been fooled once by a corrupted wizard. If the young sorceress had already been influenced by Drognan, it was a distinct possibility that Stasya would have to destroy Tara as well. Defiled mages were all too willing to use their dupes as shields in combat against the assassins, and Stasya could not afford to let her personal feelings come between her and her target.

Stasya waited a moment longer, but already Snowhammer and Wyszemir had started through the partially open gates. Xaviar hesitated a moment longer, speaking with Deckard Cain, and then he too turned and exited the city. As the three men stepped out into the desert sands, the mercenaries in charge of the gate quickly closed the portal, leaving Deckard Cain alone just inside the walls. With a low sigh, Stasya turned and started down off of the rooftop, finally admitting to herself that Tara was not heading out with the others. The assassin hoped that Tara's fear had overridden her foolish attachment to Xaviar and his quest, but she was already certain that the young sorceress had fallen under Drognan's sway.

"Well, she better not be in the way when I destroy him," Stasya said to the empty street. Then she turned and started back to Atma's public house, finally ready to make preparations for her assassination.

* * *

Despite the early hour, the Lut Gholein marketplace was already beginning to buzz with activity as Tara made her way through the stalls and vendors to the side street where Drognan lived and worked. The others had left some time ago, disappearing at sunrise into the sands of the Rocky Wastes and leaving her behind. It was Deckard Cain who had asked her to remain behind; Drognan, researching ancient tomes and long forgotten manuscripts, was coming closer every day to finding the Tomb of Tal'Rasha and the keys to destroying Baal, but he still needed help in his studies. Tara, as a scholar herself, was the optimal choice to assist the old wizard, or so Cain had told her. Xaviar, strangely unsurprised by the news, had reminded her of how important the knowledge she uncovered would be, while Snowhammer seemed almost angry with her reluctant acceptance of her new assignment. Wyszemir, as ever, seemed unreadable and unlikable, but allowed her to see that he was pleased with the fact that she would not be accompanying them to the Halls of the Dead.

Tara stopped for a moment as she reached Drognan's shop, looking into the darkened interior for a long moment. Part of her was upset with being excluded from the journey to the Halls of the Dead, and almost convinced that her comrades had devised a way to keep her here. But much of her was pleased with the chance to help while staying away from the horrors of combat, the rigors of the desert, and the opportunity to be away from her friends long enough to gather herself again. Perhaps the practiced routine of research was just what she needed to regain some sense of normalcy in a suddenly chaotic world.

"Welcome back to my shop, young sorceress," Drognan said as he suddenly emerged from inside the building. Tara almost jumped at his words, although she must have seen him coming. "I hope I did not startle you."

"No, no, not at all," Tara replied, feeling almost as off balance as she had during their first meeting. "I was… just thinking, is all."

"Ah, reconsidering the staff, I assume," Drognan said with a smile. The wizard's good humor seemed to chase some of Tara's trepidation away, and she let out a faint laugh.

"No, I…" Tara began. She hesitated for a moment, trying to decide how to approach her situation. "Did you need someone to help you in your studies?" the sorceress inquired.

"Indeed," Drognan answered with a nod. "I had spoken to Deckard Cain only last night of the difficulties in pinpointing Tal'Rasha's Tomb. I have pursued many leads through many ancient tomes, but the process is slow at best. An assistant is something I could very much use to help in my research. Deckard Cain mentioned that you were a scholar, and that you had originally come here to share research with him."

"I… my fiancé, had found something he wanted to share with Cain," Tara said. "He… did not survive the desert."

"I am sorry," Drognan said, his tone seemingly genuine. Tara's grief gave way momentarily to surprise, as Drognan did not seem to know anything about Phinian. "I am certain he is now part of the Light that shines down upon all of us."

"Thank you," Tara said quietly, dropping her eyes to the ground.

"We must act quickly, before the fate of your betrothed becomes one we all will share," Drognan said, swiftly moving back to the task at hand. "Tal'Rasha was long ago buried in the Canyon of the Magi, but over the centuries that have passed since Baal's imprisonment the sands of the desert have all but obliterated any of the landmarks. It is up to us to research every ancient record, every decaying map, and find Tal'Rasha's tomb before the Lord of Terror does."

"I still wonder if I should have gone with the others," Tara said as she followed Drognan into his shop. The small front room of the wizard's shop was cluttered with all manner of potions and staves for sale, but Drognan was already heading through an ironbound door behind the counter. Drognan stopped as he heard Tara's uncertainty, and smiled as he turned back to her.

"Your companions are on their way to an important task," the wizard said, "but behind this door is an even more important undertaking. For if we do not succeed in finding Tal'Rasha's Tomb, your friends' search fort the Horadric Cube will be worth nothing. Yes, we will be able to restore the Horadric Staff, but what good is a key when one does not know which door it unlocks?"

"I suppose," Tara agreed reluctantly. Drognan smiled at her reply, then opened the ironbound door and led the young sorceress down a narrow, spiraling staircase constructed of the sandstone that was so abundant in the wastes. A faint glow rapidly appeared from below, and as Tara reached the bottom of the steps she could not help but be held in awe at the chamber before her. Lit by balls of pure white fire suspended in iron bowls from the ceiling, Drognan's subterranean sanctuary was far larger than the building above, divided into a library of at least a hundred books and at least as many furled scrolls, and a workshop containing all of the glassware and chemicals necessary to create alchemical compounds and magical wands and staves. At the mere sight of such a grand laboratory, Tara's immediate worries disappeared as she marveled over the hidden workshop.

"As you can see, we have some work ahead of us," Drognan said, coming to the awestruck sorceress' side. Tara nodded wordlessly, already thinking of the knowledge to be found in the wizard's library. "Let us waste no more time."

"Show me where to start," Tara said simply.

* * *

The sun had still been well above the horizon when Stasya drifted off to sleep, determined to take some rest before her second attempt to assassinate the wizard Drognan. But as she slowly rose, she found her room shrouded in darkness, the slim light of a quarter moon only barely illuminating the cold stone of a room she at first did not find even vaguely familiar. Instead of the coarse, homespun blanket that Atma had given her, Stasya found herself in a chilly, royally furnished bedroom with heavy comforters and plush feather pillows. Heavy tapestries partially obscured the wide, arched windows set into two walls of her spacious room, but through those curtains the4 assassin could glimpse sturdy pines and rolling hills. Slowly Stasya took a step to the windows, beginning to realize where she was as she saw the rugged, beautiful terrain.

"It's a dream," Stasya told herself, pushing aside one of the tapestries and gazing out over the ancestral lands of the Family Oryakhovu. "It has to be a dream."

"Ever the perceptive one," a voice said from behind her. Stasya whirled on the sound, drawing her _kris_ from its sheath at her side, but stopped as she found Petrov standing near the door to her room.

"Petrov?" Stasya said, lowering her dagger only faintly.

"I am," Stasya's mentor answered with a smile. The older assassin appraised the opulent room for a moment before returning his attention to his student. "Ah, sweet Stasya, it has been some time since you visited these bedchambers."

"What are you doing here?" Stasya demanded, growing more and more nervous in the face of her bizarre dream. Stasya had left Oryakhovu Castle behind long ago, and had done nearly anything she could thin of to expunge the memories from her mind. The simple surroundings made her uncomfortable, and Petrov's presence made the surreal dream even more disturbing.

"I am as much a part of this vision as these walls, this manse, and your family," the older assassin replied, as though the answer should have been obvious. "Don't you remember this night? So long ago, so far away from the desert and the dust? You've told me on numerous occasions how you could never forget this night. The nightmares haunted you so badly during the following months that I could barely leave your side when you slept."

"It was the boy," Stasya decided, slowly relaxing and sheathing her _kris_. "The little kid, Faraj. That's why I'm having this dream."

"Most likely, yes," Petrov agreed. "Unfortunately, by the time I reached Oryakhovu, Razvan had immolated the boy."

Petrov's words seemed to be a cue, for as he finished his sentence an awful, memorable boom echoed through the dark castle, followed by a horrific scream of pain that could only have come from a young boy. Stasya spun quickly, her _kris_ seeming to simply appear in her hand as she drew the weapon a second time.

"Sergei!" the assassin shrieked, already sprinting through the familiar corridors in the near total darkness. By memory alone she sped through the darkened halls, avoiding the dreadfully burned bodies of the castle guard as she made her way unerringly towards her parents' and brother's room.

"I'll kill you!" a loud, deep voice shouted. Stasya remembered the voice all too well, and pushed herself even harder before the rest of the night's terrors could be replayed. But even as she raced headlong through the last turn, a second boom, followed by a second tortured scream, echoed through the corridor.

"Papa! No, papa!" Stasya screamed, turning the last corner. Her voice seemed to echo off the wall ahead of her…

Stasya skidded to a stop as she came upon the scene. Her parents and her brother were already little more than smoking corpses scattered across the spacious, once elegantly furnished bedchambers of Oryakhovu Castle. Tapestries set along the walls still smoldered from the intense heat of the flames. And standing in the middle of the embers and ashes, Razvan himself gloated over his handiwork, his dark eyes alight with sinister glee as he finally turned on the last member of the Family Oryakhovu. Even with the corrupted wizard's billowing gray cloak blocking all of her view of the young girl huddled against the wall, Stasya was held transfixed as she watched the demonic wizard stalk his final victim.

"You should not fear, little Stasya," the wizard said, his low, almost soothing voice as terrifying to the assassin now as it had been so long ago. "You will join your family soon enough."

"Please, don't hurt me," the child of fourteen begged, tears running down her cheeks as she watched the wizard close in on her. Stasya tried to do something, anything to stop the wizard, but the power of her dream held her transfixed as Razvan came to a stop and raised his hands to cast one last inferno. Both Stasyas screamed in terror as the wizard began to cast…

A younger Petrov suddenly appeared next to the wizard, slamming into Razvan before he could finish his inferno spell and jamming his freezing katar into Razvan's side. This time it was the wizard that screamed in pain as the icy blade tore through his unprotected flesh, but even as he tried to react Petrov spun to the caster's back and jammed his left handed blade, a wickedly serrated wrist blade, into Razvan's chest. The sorcerer opened his mouth as he turned a last, hateful glance to the assassin, but he could say nothing as he slowly sank to the stone floor of the castle.

"Like it was only yesterday," Petrov said quietly, standing next to the assassin as she watched her memory of her first meeting with Petrov. He had been so kind and gentle to her that night, somehow managing to be compassionate to her only seconds after he had brutally killed Razvan. "And now, look at you. Five years, and you are as good as I was that night."

"I don't want to dream this," Stasya said. "Not here, not now."

"It is too late," Petrov observed. "Little Faraj has triggered memories you have tried so hard to suppress. Like it or not, you are remembering them now. Perhaps if you would concentrate on your work…"

"I don't want to remember," Stasya said, forcing the scenery to change. She succeeded in banishing Castle Oryakhovu to the deepest recesses of her mind, but found herself standing in a small, bare room, dark but for a single candle set on a low wooden table in the center of the room. Once again a younger Stasya and Petrov were present, aged only six months from their meeting in Castle Oryakhovu.

"You have to teach me!" the younger Stasya pleaded as Petrov stood by the room's only window.

"Why?" the younger Petrov inquired, looking over his shoulder to the girl that he had adopted. "Razvan is dead. It is difficult to take vengeance now, unless you plan on following him to hell."

"I want to kill wizards," Stasya growled out, her voice taking an icy edge. Petrov almost laughed, and shook his head.

"Hatred," he said. "Hatred is useless, little Stasya. We do not hunt mages because we hate them. Quite the contrary, the Viz-Jaq'taar is closely aligned with the Zann Esu and the remnants of the Horadrim. No, we work too closely with mages to hate them."

"Then why do we kill mages?" the younger Stasya asked.

"Because that is our job," Petrov explained. "We do not judge. We do not hate, or love, or indeed confuse emotion with our work. We destroy, and we do so because that is what we are told to do. Do not confuse dreams of vengeance or romantic images with what we are. We are destroyers."

"Then I will be a destroyer, too," the younger Stasya decided, standing from where she sat next to the candle. "Please, teach me, Petrov."

The younger Petrov hesitated for a long moment, considering the child in front of him.

"We shall see, come the morning," the assassin decided. "Sleep now, little Stasya. Perhaps in the morning you will not want this path."

Stasya watched the scene for a long moment, but finally it faded to black, leaving her and the present day Petrov in a dark void.

"You never turned back," the assassin said, considering his student. "And for some time, you were actually very good at your job."

"I still am," Stasya retorted, turning defiantly on her mentor.

"Well, I gave you a task to perform, several days ago now," Petrov pointed out. "And you have not done it."

"I will kill Drognan," Stasya said, but I'm not just going to walk into a trap because you're impatient."

"I may not be the only one impatient," Petrov pointed out. "You have those fears yourself. Are there other assassins in Lut Gholein, watching you? Are you on trial?"

"What would I be on trial for?" Stasya demanded, although she could not keep all of the anxiety from her voice. Petrov opened his mouth to speak, but a distant scream stopped them both before he could begin. "What was that?" the younger assassin asked, glancing around.

"Echoes from your dreams," Petrov replied, though his answer seemed too hasty. "It is inconsequential right now. You were placed here to destroy mages. Remember your job."

"I'll do my job," Stasya argued. A second scream, this one closer, interrupted the two again. This time Stasya hesitated a long moment, trying to piece together the scream to her dreams.

"You have to focus!" Petrov snapped. Stasya looked up, but a warning was screaming in her mind. "Do your job! Nothing else is important!"

"You're distracting me," Stasya concluded. A third scream reached her, this one startlingly close, followed by a roar that reminded her far too much of the undead Guardians they had fought in the Claw Viper lair. Petrov shrugged in a transparent act of confusion "Let me out of this dream!"

* * *

Stasya suddenly leapt up, breaking free of the spell that had held her asleep. The assassin scrambled out of her bed as she heard Atma wailing somewhere in another room, wrapping her sheet loosely around her as she fumbled for her _kris_. Stasya stumbled through the door of her tiny room, ready for combat, but by the time she reached Atma she found the woman sobbing over her mutilated husband and son. Somewhere nearby, the last, horrible roar of a Guardian echoed through Atma's home, but the assassin was held fast by the awful scene in front of her. Atma finally looked up from her dead family, her cheeks already soaked with tears.

"Why?" the woman sobbed.

"What… happened?" was all Stasya could muster.

"Radament," Atma choked out. A clear note of rage forced itself into her voice. "Damn that fiend to the lowest pit of hell!"

Stasya numbly staggered backwards into her small room, shutting the door and staring into space for a long moment. Finally, the young woman turned back to her possessions. Her armor was ready and waiting in a neat pile in the corner. Slowly the assassin started over to the pile, and began to dress for battle.

"The hell with you, Petrov," the assassin spat out to the empty room. "Drognan can wait. Radament comes first."

**XXIX**

"They say the monster lives down there. But I wouldn't go chasing him if I were you."

"You are not me," Stasya said coldly, gazing down into then depths of the pit in front of her. Standing just to her right, Greiz also looked down into the darkness as two of his men held open the heavy grate that covered the sewer entrance. "If that thing is down there, I will find it."

"I am certain that you will," Greiz agreed, a wry smile on his face as he looked up from the black pit. "Or rather, I am certain Radament will find you. You won't be the first to go down this shaft, Stasya. None of the others have come out."

"None of the others were as good as I am," Stasya retorted curtly. Greiz chuckled at the bold remark.

"I am certain," the mercenary captain said, holding back most of his amusement at the remark. Then he grew serious. "Once you have gone down, we have to close up the shaft again. I will post a watch here, but we will not let anything out until the morning sun has risen. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Stasya confirmed, taking one more look into the darkness.

"Stasya," Greiz said. Stasya looked back to the mercenary captain. "Good luck."

"Thank you," Stasya said quietly. Without another word, the assassin dropped into the darkness.

The shaft was slightly deeper than she had expected, but Stasya landed on the slimy floor of the sewer in a ready crouch. For a long moment the only sounds to penetrate the inky gloom was the sound of slowly flowing water, but the loud clang of the metal grate being replaced above her momentarily drowned out the gurgling sewage. The stench of rotting refuse nearly overpowered the assassin for a moment, but Stasya steeled her will against the revolting odors and slowly began to push her way through the fetid water. As she moved away from what little moonlight filtered down through the grate, the assassin once again relied on the jewel she had found in the desert, providing a low, crimson light to the drains and tunnels she now followed. Beyond her feeble circle of light, the assassin could hear things moving in the darkness, but for the moment nothing approached her to attack. Rats scurried away from the dim light into the darkened recesses of the tunnels, but for the moment the assassin seemed to be alone in the sewers.

"They can never just be waiting right at the entrance," Stasya grumbled, picking her way through the sludge and filthy water to one wall of the sewer. The arc created by the circular tunnel walls allowed the assassin to stay relatively dry, but already she realized it would take days, and a series of baths, to rid herself of the foul stench once she found and destroyed Radament. "If I ever even find him," the assassin added out loud, carefully picking her way along the edge of the sewage.

Stasya followed the dank tunnel to a blind bend, but stopped before she turned into the next dark passage. Somewhere ahead, she could hear a strange sound, something akin to a vague creaking. Quickly the assassin pocketed her jewel of light, plunging the sewers back into total darkness as she dropped low to the ground. The creaking quickly began to grow louder as the assassin drew her _kris_, wishing that she had thought to replace the buckler that had been destroyed in the Lost City to aid her defense. With her free hand Stasya prepared the charged bolt traps that had served her so well during her journey to Lut Gholein, ready to face Radament or any other demons that may have taken refuge beneath the desert city.

A dim light suddenly spread through the sewers as the creaking reached the bend in the tunnel. A dull, angry red glow, akin to a smoldering fire, began to spread across the filthy water and crusted walls, allowing Stasya to see the source of the illumination. Completely unsurprised by the assassin's presence, a half dozen skeletons, each holding a glow of embers within its red tinged bones and dressed in the ragged remnants of chain mail armor and coifs, turned the corner to face off against the intruder into their home, wielding axes and round shields as they closed in on her.

Stasya wasted no more time as the Burning Dead turned on her. In an instant the assassin had thrown her first trap to the ground, adding brilliant blasts of electrical light to the dim red glow of her enemies as the charged bolts crackled out a the skeletons. Two fell to the trap even as Stasya launched herself at a third, dropping under the undead's first heavy swing of its axe and launching an explosive kick into its midsection. Her initial target burst into a shower of bone fragments as Stasya turned on a fourth attacker, shoving her _kris_ between two ribs and then yanking the weapon straight up through the bones to destroy the skeleton's entire chest. As that one collapsed to the ground in a pile of broken bones, Stasya whirled on the last two Burning Dead, ripping her _kris_ through one of the skeletons even as she snapped a kick up into the jaw of the second and knocking its skull clear of its body. Both Burning Dead fell to the ground at the same moment, their evil glow disappearing and dropping the assassin back into darkness.

"You'll need more than that to stop me," Stasya called out, her voice echoing off the rough stone walls of the sewers.

As if in answer, the creaking of bones and the dim red glow of the Burning Dead seemed to appear on both sides of her.

Stasya wasted no more time, moving quickly before the Burning Dead could converge on her. The assassin rushed around the blind bend to see almost a dozen more of the fiery skeletons aiming decaying long bows at her, their arrows tipped with pure fire. A small alcove to her left offered Stasya an escape only a heartbeat before the Burning Dead archers loosed their shafts, sending a hail of fire through the sewers that impacted against the wall behind her with brilliant explosions. Pushing her way quickly through the crevice, the assassin stumbled out on another sewer tunnel, falling to knee deep in the filthy water of the passage. The red glow of the Burning Dead did not reach her here, but a low, agonized groan found its way through the inky darkness to her ears. Slowly Stasya reached back into her belt pouch, removing the jewel of light and illuminating the passage she had entered.

The things shambling through the water towards her were not skeletons, but mummified, desiccated corpses that resembled the Embalmed that she had fought in the Claw Viper temple in the desert. Five of the Dried Corpses staggered toward her from the front, but already she could hear the sounds of other mummies wading through the water all around her. Mindful of the poison gas the things released upon their demise, Stasya slowly began to angle left, hoping to break past the monsters before they could entrap her. Seemingly oblivious to her tactics, the Dried Corpses marched onward, clawed hands outstretched as they closed in on her.

Stasya struck suddenly, sweeping her _kris_ downward and slicing the arms off of the first corpse to the elbows. The armless undead still flailed dumbly at her, but the assassin was already past the first one, exploding through the second with a series of slashes even as she channeled the power of each strike into a deadly climax. Focusing all her might, Stasya spun off the second Dried Corpse as it fell and drove into the third with a thunderous kick. Her boot connected with the midsection of the third as she surged forward, causing an explosion of fire around her that incinerated the last two Dried Corpses in the inferno. Stasya wasted no time to take pride in her handiwork, but hurried past the smoldering bodies and disappeared into the darkness once again. With the groans of the Dried Corpses behind her and the creaking of the Burning Dead finally finding their way through the passage that had initially saved her, the assassin quickly followed the passage she had chosen to its end at a cascade of sewage to a lower level. With no other recourse, Stasya dropped into the darkness below her, leaving the immediate danger behind.

Stasya hesitated for a moment as she landed in a pool of sludge, examining the chamber around her quickly for any further signs of the undead. Nothing seemed to move on this level, but above her she could hear the sounds of her enemies searching for her. Silently Stasya made her way to the edge of the room, only a moment before two fiery arrows appeared at the lip of the opening. The assassin pushed herself into one corner, vanishing into the shadows, but the caution seemed unnecessary. Within moments the Burning Dead archers had disappeared, leaving the lower level silent and dark. After an extra moment to make certain that undead above her had moved on, Stasya carefully made her way from the shadows and continued along the new passages she had found below the primary sewers.

The lower level did not contain so much sewage, but the odor of refuse was slowly replaced with the pungent stench of rotting flesh and death. Stasya continued on, undaunted, certain that the change in the air meant that she was close to her target. Again remaining close to the walls, the assassin edged forward through the darkness, unwilling to even use her jewel as a light source in this new, forbidding passage.

The sounds of a sick, wet ripping stopped the assassin in her tracks. A dim light emanated from somewhere ahead, not the sinister glow of the Burning Dead but a guttering torch in the distance. Creaking bones foretold new skeletal sentries, forcing Stasya to stop and consider her strategy. The assassin had hoped to find Radament, whatever it was, alone in the tunnels, but a cadre of Burning Dead could create new problems for the assassin. And if Radament was a Guardian like the ones in the Claw Viper temple, the assassin could wind up facing her enemies dozens of times if the demon continued to resurrect them. Finally, steeling her will for the task ahead, Stasya crept forward, keeping to the shadows as she advanced. One last blind bend separated her from the sputtering light and the disgusting sounds of tearing flesh, and carefully the assassin peeked around the corner to take stock of her mark.

The thing that occupied the center of the chamber was indeed a Guardian, but it seemed more animated than the ones she had faced in the desert. Pin points of sinister red light shone with a hint of madness in its vacant eye sockets as it tore hungrily into the midsection of a long dead guardsman. A large gold torque, inlaid with turquoise and emerald, hung around its rotting neck, while its once pure white funereal robes were now spattered with blood and gore. The thing was surrounded by a dozen more Burning Dead, but these carried neither axes nor bows. Much like Wyszemir's skeleton mages, the Burning Dead's hands were sheathed in nimbuses of crackling electricity or sputtering fire, giving the room its malignant illumination. If she was to win this fight, Stasya would need every edge she could get. For a moment the assassin dropped back into the darkness, but finally she decided upon her strategy.

Stasya rushed into the chamber suddenly, throwing a pair of charged bolt traps to the ground in front of her before Radament or its minions could react. The crackling electricity arced out through the Burning Dead with devastating accuracy, dropping two before they could even react, but the electricity seemed not to reach Radament before the traps collapsed into piles of ash. With a roar of fury, the demon pointed at the assassin, spurring its guards to action. As one the Burning Dead turned on Stasya, throwing off crackling charged bolts or balls of fire at the woman even as she turned and bolted back into the darkness. Stasya leapt back behind the wall with all the speed she could muster, but one fireball still caught her legs and two charged bolts unerringly sought out her metallic armor as she dove for cover.

"We live, again," Radament hissed out from behind the wall. Stasya jumped back to her feet as the first of the Burning Dead rounded the corner after her, but the assassin did not attack immediately. Instead Stasya fell back a half dozen paces along the wall, dodging quickly as a pair of fireballs streaked in on her. More of the Burning Dead poured out into the passage, but still Stasya did little more than dodge and backpedal through the darkness. Fireballs and charged bolts slammed into the walls around her and some even impacted off of her armor, but even wounded and running out of space, the assassin held her attacks.

Finally the last of the Burning Dead entered the passage. Stasya sprang back into action as soon as the last skeleton appeared, throwing charged bolt traps down in front of her and calling her blade sentinel into being to protect her left as she dove back into the fray. Two of the Burning Dead fell to her onslaught immediately, felled by swift kicks or her flashing _kris_ even as her charged bolts and blade sentinel finished two others. As the two traps fell to ash Stasya released two more, barely pausing as she slashed the head of one Burning Dead mage from its shoulders and followed with a powerful Dragon Talon kick to another. Half of her opponents had already fallen, but Stasya suddenly saw the imposing silhouette of Radament appear at the bend in the tunnel.

Stasya threw herself forward for all she was worth, ignoring her blade sentinel as it shattered against a final Burning Dead or her charged bolt traps as they sputtered out of existence. The assassin ducked under a fireball and took a charged bolt as she lunged headlong at Radament, cutting off the demon's attempts to begin resurrecting its minions with a second Dragon Talon kick and a flurry of speedy slices. Radament growled in pain and rage as it turned on the assassin, unleashing a gout of putrid, poisonous vapors on the assassin as she closed in for another strike. Gasping for air and nearly blinded by the thick miasma, Stasya nonetheless pushed forward with her _kris_ to launch strike after strike at the Guardian, tearing through the long dead flesh with each stroke. Two more fireballs crashed into her back, scorching her from neck to waist, but Stasya refused to turn away from Radament as the thing tried to fend off her assaults. Once again Stasya channeled the energy of each strike into a fiery climax, lashing out yet again with a lethal kick that exploded into a wall of fire around her. Radament's skin and robes quickly caught fire in the center of the inferno, but the burning demon lumbered forward for one last attack, trying to smother the assassin in her own flames. Stasya stumbled back under the assault, slammed into the wall by the demon's powerful claw strikes, her ring mail and skin alike tearing in the demon's taloned grip. Screaming in pain, Stasya tumbled backwards into Radament's chamber, barely able to stand from the pain of her wounds. Frantically the assassin dragged herself back into the chamber as Radament, still flaming from her explosive kick, staggered into the room, but the demon finally collapsed in front of her as the fire finally consumed it.

With Radament on the ground, Stasya fumbled with her sash, finally finding a healing potion and quickly drinking down the contents. Poison still burned through her veins, but within moment the assassin found her last antidote and choked down the foul, thick liquid, purging the toxins from her body. Finally, with her wounds mending and once again free of Radament's poisons, Stasya stumbled to her feet, holding her _kris_ in front of her as she waited for the Burning Dead to rejoin the fray, but not a single creaking bone could be heard from the passage.

"I guess you took your minions with you," Stasya said, looking down at the smoldering, incinerated body of Radament. The assassin plunged her _kris_ one last time into the demon, severing its jackal head from the rest of its body. "Go back to hell, demon. I claim vengeance for Atma."

Stasya spat on the decapitated corpse for good measure, then turned back to examine the chamber. A simple wooden chest stood in the center of the room near the remains of Radament's last meal, and as her strength returned Stasya quickly made her way to it. A quick turn of a pick opened the lock, and with bright eyes the assassin looked in on the gold and gems that the demon had collected. Among the treasure was also a large, furled scroll, but although she carefully stuffed the ancient parchment into her backpack she quickly forgot it in the face of the gems, gold, and a shining silver coat of scale mail.


	17. Reunion

**XXX**

She had only killed Radament to take vengeance for Atma. She never did it for the popularity.

Stasya frowned as yet another of Lut Gholein's citizens smiled and thanked her quickly for defeating the monster that had terrorized their city for so many nights. Greiz had given her a simple "Good job" when she returned to the surface with the first lights of dawn, but it seemed that word had spread like wildfire once the sun had fully cleared the horizon. Assassins were secretive people; having everyone in the city know her name felt wrong to Stasya, and the young woman found herself trying to dodge into shadows and creep along the edges of buildings as more and more people thanked her, smiled at her, winked at her, or in some other way tried to show her gratitude. Even Lysander, the belligerent old man that owned the city's apothecary, seemed to be a little less rude, offering her a minor discount on poison antidotes when she tried to buy some. Now, with the sun nearing its zenith, Stasya finally made her way to the center of Lut Gholein, hiding in the shade of the armory that Fara ran and hoping to find the old man that had sent Xaviar and his band on their fool's errand.

Deckard Cain was, in fact, in the very same place where they had met him several days before. Even before she stepped out from the shade of the awnings and make herself seen, the old sorcerer waved to her, greeting her with a warm smile. Rolling her eyes at the display, Stasya shouldered her captured loot from Radament's lair and walked across the square, trying to hide behind the bundle as she made her way through the market crowds.

"Good to see you," Deckard Cain said as she reached him. "You have done a great deed for this city in slaying that demon, Radament."

"I know, I know," Stasya retorted. "I didn't do it so people could keep patting me on the back, old man."

"Of course not," Deckard Cain agreed. "Still, these people are very grateful to you for the good deed that you have done."

"I'm certain," Stasya grumbled. She dropped the heavy bag she carried on the ground in front of the sage. "Maybe some of that gratitude could get these items identified."

"Of course, of course," Cain said, looking to the sack at his feet. Stasya stooped down and opened the bag, revealing the finely crafted, shining silver scale mail that she had found as well as a glittering ruby ring. Deckard Cain's eyes took the two items in for only a moment, however, before he focused on the furled parchment partially hidden beneath the shimmering armor. Stasya noticed the old sage's attention easily, and pulled the scroll out of the sack.

"It's yours, if you want it," the assassin said, almost uncomfortable with such an act of charity. Cain took the parchment from her hands, unrolling it carefully and studying the writing for a long moment. Then he furled the scroll once more and turned a bright smile to Stasya.

"Perhaps it is not so much a fool's errand any more," the sage said.

"What are you talking about?" Stasya asked. "Radament deserved to die!"

"Ah, but you have found the lost Horadric scroll!" Cain explained, holding up the parchment she had taken from the demon's lair. "Once Xaviar and the others have returned, we can restore the Horadric Staff and open Tal Rasha's tomb!"

"I didn't do this to find some moldy old scroll!" Stasya countered angrily.

"Nevertheless, fate has drawn you into this struggle, Stasya," Cain pointed out. "Even if only briefly, your contributions may help to save all of Sanctuary from demons far worse than Radament. Even now, Tara and Drognan labor to uncover the secret location of Tal Rasha's tomb, and your other allies have no doubt already discovered the Halls of the Dead and the Horadric Cube."

"Drognan… knows where Tal Rasha's tomb is?" Stasya asked, growing more and more uneasy about her assignment. Why would the Patriarchs want Drognan dead, at least before they gained such precious information?

"Not yet," Deckard Cain replied with a bit of a smile. "But I am certain that he and Tara will uncover that secret before Xaviar can reform the Horadric Staff. But we must move quickly, before Diablo can free his brother!"

"Excuse me," Stasya said, turning and starting back into the crowds.

"Don't you want your treasures?" Cain called out behind her.

"I'll be back for it by nightfall!" the assassin shouted over her shoulder, not even slowing. Something was going on in Lut Gholein that she did not understand, but she was certain her answers would begin with finding Petrov.

* * *

The sun was beginning to set as Stasya finally stopped in front of the Desert Rain inn. The assassin had crossed Lut Gholein at least a dozen times during the day, but her elusive mentor was nowhere to be found in the bustling markets and the bustling taverns. Now, with night only a short time away, Stasya could think of no other place to search for Petrov within the walls of the city. Slowly the assassin opened the door of the Desert Rain and started through the boisterous tavern room, flinching as Elzix and two or three of his patrons raised their mugs to salute her but fortunately not trying to call her over to join them. Stasya hurried up the steps to the second floor but stopped outside her room. She was not exactly thrilled with the prospect of seeing Tara again, but the sorceress was her only source of information concerning what Drognan might be studying in his shop. The assassin took a deep breath, resigning herself to facing the immature woman, and carefully pushed open the door to the room. She took only one step into the room before she stopped, her jaw dropping in shock as the door closed behind her.

"I would hardly think this is the time to take your rest, sweet Stasya," Petrov remarked, lounging back on the bed in the center of the room. "Another day passes, and yet Drognan is still alive."

"Deckard Cain says Drognan is close to uncovering the location of Tal Rasha's Tomb," Stasya informed her mentor. "We need that information."

"Deckard Cain is misinformed," Petrov said. "Drognan is merely conjuring more demons. He will replace Radament with another demon, one that will make Radament seem like a minor nuisance. You must destroy him. Now."

Again, the word _destroy_ seemed to echo in her head for the briefest moment. The assassin's fingers wrapped around the hilt of her _kris_ before she realized that she had moved.

"I will talk to Tara," Stasya decided, releasing her weapon.

"And what did I tell you about forming ties with the apprentice of a corrupted mage?" Petrov inquired. "She is likely falling to Drognan's charms as she did Phinian's."

"I will talk to Tara," Stasya said again. Petrov's faint smirk vanished as he slowly stood up from the bed.

"You have had fears, yes?" her mentor inquired. "About the possibility of the Patriarchs testing you? Perhaps your fears are not so far off base."

"They have no reason to test me," Stasya stated, masking her own concerns with a show of confidence. "I will not destroy Drognan yet if there is risk of losing the location of Tal Rasha's Tomb."

"Then consider yourself relieved of your position," Petrov growled, closing the distance between them until he was merely inches from her face. "The Patriarchs will hear of this blatant refusal. You will be tried, condemned, and executed for allowing this plague to continue!"

"Let them put me on trial," Stasya retorted. "When they find out that I might be able to learn where Tal Rasha's Tomb is, you'll be the one to be condemned!"

Petrov snarled in fury. For a moment Stasya thought her mentor was going to draw his weapons and attack, but thankfully the older assassin spun on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him with enough force to rattle the shutters. Stasya watched the closed door for a long moment, thankful that she would not be forced into her latest assignment but nervous of what might happen if the Viz-Jaq'taar did indeed put her on trial. Finally, she dropped down on her bed, weary from a full day of searching Lut Gholein for her mentor when he had been waiting for her in her own room. Idly she wondered what Petrov would have done if Tara had shown up rather than her. Considering his apparent disdain for the young sorceress and his continued remarks of her possible taint, Stasya considered it fortunate for her ally that she had never arrived…

Stasya shot up off of the bed in a heartbeat. Petrov had been furious with her for refusing to kill Drognan, but it only occurred to her now, after he had left, that he might be on his way to kill the old wizard himself. Without another second of hesitation the assassin raced out of the room and nearly leapt down the steps, practically barreling over patrons as she shoved her way through the tavern room and out into the streets. She had no idea how far ahead Petrov might be, but she was willing to take no chances in her attempt to beat him to Drognan's shop.

* * *

Much as the practiced routines had helped her put her mind at ease, research was still a long, tedious chore.

Tara sat back in her chair for a moment, taking time to stretch her aching neck. She had been in Drognan's library for almost two days straight, taking time only to eat a pair of small meals with the old wizard or to take a few fitful hours of sleep on a cot set in the back of the chamber. While Tara slept little, she had not yet seen Drognan so much as take an hour of rest; the mage was a man possessed, scouring tomes and directing Tara to ancient maps and archaic scrolls when he was too involved in his current duties to check the items himself. Only now, after two days locked away in his underground sanctum, had the old wizard even left the library, telling the sorceress that he needed something from the alchemist, Lysander, to continue his studies. That left Tara alone in Drognan's study, silently thankful despite herself that she would have a moment to rest after such an arduous day.

Tara stood slowly and walked in a lazy circle around her desk, stretching her back, her arms, and her legs as she did so. With a stifled yawn the sorceress slowly walked toward the laboratory that stood just beyond the shelves of books and scrolls, idly looking over the glassware and components neatly stacked away in cupboards and ordered neatly on tables.

Something behind her made her stop. Tara turned back to the closed door that led up to Drognan's shop, but it appeared to still be shut tightly. For a moment the sorceress glanced around nervously, but then she shook her head.

"I'm starting to hear things now," Tara said to herself with a faint smile. After so long staring at pages and maps, fatigue was starting to take its toll.

Another sound, faint but unmistakable, grabbed her attention. Tara spun to the bookshelves, certain that she was not imagining the noise.

"Hello?" she called out, forcing herself to take a hesitant step forward. Her staff and armor were neatly piled in the back of the library, near the cot, but she could still cast if the need arose. "Drognan? Is that you?"

A heavy book slammed to the ground somewhere among the shelves. Tara jumped at the sound, whirling on the direction of the noise, but nothing presented itself in the suddenly sinister gloom of the library. Without any more hesitation Tara turned and bolted for the door, more than willing to wait for Drognan's return to confront whatever had gotten into his sanctum.

Tara had barely moved for the door when a burst of pain shot through her leg. The sorceress tumbled to the ground with a startled cry, but even as she landed a long, thin throwing knife pierced her hand, stapling her to the floor. Burning poison was already coursing through her as she screamed in agony, stealing her coherence as she tried feebly to remove the knife from her hand or at least the floorboards.

Another person suddenly appeared over her, ripping the knife holding her to the floor free of her hand and tossing her back into the library. Tara skidded into the edge of one bookshelf, dazing her for a moment, but weakly she struggled to get to her feet. She had barely crawled to her knees when a heavy boot stamped down on her wounded hand, grinding it into the ground as she shrieked in agony.

"Where is Drognan?" a man snarled, leaning down over her. Tara managed to look up into a pair of dark, icy eyes, thinking for a moment that pinpoints of sinister red light were forming at the very centers of his pupils. "Talk, corruptor!" the man demanded. "Where is he?"

"He… left," Tara gasped. The slight, mustached man forced all of his weight down on her hand, nearly crushing the bones. Tara squeezed her eyes shut as she let out a tortured scream, forcing back tears of pain.

"Where did he go?" her attacker pressed. Tara looked up at her tormentor, a light of defiance coming to her eyes.

"He went to hell," the sorceress managed, nearly growling out the words. "He asked me to tell you to follow."

"You first," the man said, shoving her back into the bookshelf and drawing a long, wide bladed weapon from his belt. Tara could feel the blade's chill as frost shimmered along its length, closing her eyes as she waited for the killing blow.

* * *

Even through the heavy, ironbound door Stasya could hear Tara screaming in pain. The assassin had nearly sprinted from the Desert Rain to Drognan's shop, but already Petrov had gotten in and locked the door behind him. Frantically Stasya pulled her lock picks from her sash and went to work on the lock, hoping that she would be in time to save her ally.

The lock clicked and Stasya pushed the door open just as Tara let out a bloodcurdling scream, covering her entrance. The younger assassin crept inside to see Petrov standing over the bloody sorceress, torturing her for information on Drognan. Stasya drew her _kris_ and stalked forward, finding herself surprised as Tara made her final, defiant statement to her intimidating mentor. Then Petrov shoved her back into the bookshelf, drawing his katar of frost back for the killing blow.

Stasya hit him just as he opened his entire side to her attack, driving her _kris_ up under Petrov's ring mail shirt and impaling him to the hilt on the weapon. This time it was Petrov who screamed in pain as the poisoned blade tore into him, but with supernatural strength and speed her mentor whirled back on her, drawing his serrated wrist blade and ripping a jagged gash across her arm. Stasya dropped back, ripping her blade free of Petrov's side, but in the moment she took to drop back into a defensive crouch her mentor disappeared into the dim library.

"Tara?" Stasya asked, looking down to the sorceress. Tara was alive, but only barely; Petrov's throwing knives were laced with powerful poison, and the sorceress had taken two hits from them already.

"What… are you doing here?" Tara asked, looking up with surprise at the assassin.

"If anyone kills you, it's going to be me," Stasya stated, kneeling next to Tara and pulling an antidote potion from her sash. She could already see the black blotches forming around the wound to Tara's hand from the poison. Quickly she uncorked the antidote herself, then pressed the bottle into Tara's uninjured hand. "Drink this. It'll stop the poison."

"Thank you," Tara said quietly. Stasya barely nodded her thanks as she stood and peered into the rapidly darkening library. The Cloak of Shadows was one of the older tricks of the Viz-Jaq'taar, a move Petrov had made a staple of his assaults on mages during the time Stasya had known him. With her vision rapidly failing her in the gloom, Stasya carefully set out a pair of charged bolt sentries, waiting for the inevitable flashes when Petrov neared her.

She did not have long to wait. She heard the faint rustle of Petrov's armor even as her traps sparked to life and spun left to face the charge. Even as she fended off one icy blade, however, she was attacked from behind as well, suffering another ragged wound across her back. Stasya dropped low and rolled out from between her two attackers, realizing that Petrov had summoned a shadow of himself to fight by his side. Hastily Stasya cast off a blade sentinel to her right as she tried to discern which Petrov was real, but both of them seemed almost transparent under the effects of Petrov's assassin talents. Her mentor's images stalked in on her slowly as her traps crackled out of existence, menacing grins forming on their lips as their eyes seemed to glow with a sinister red light.

"Drognan isn't corrupted," the younger assassin breathed out. "You are."

"Corrupted?" Petrov repeated, a chuckle escaping his lips. "No, Stasya, not corrupted. I am free. Free to _destroy_."

The word echoed in her mind again, trying to tear away her composure and concentration. Stasya shook off the mental assault quickly, but the second that it cost her was more time than her mentor needed. Petrov and his shadow charged in on her, their blades coming in impossibly fast and at dizzying angles. Stasya parried frantically with her _kris_ as she backpedaled into the aisle between the bookshelves, but for every blade she blocked two more seemed to find their way through. Petrov's shadow drove in at her with a vicious double strike; Stasya shifted and parried both blades away even as the true Petrov's katar tore a long, freezing wound along her chest. The assassin whirled back on her mentor to parry away his jagged wrist blade, but left herself open to the shadow warrior's identical weapon and nearly dropped to one knee as the serrated wrist blade tore into her side. Desperately she tried to throw out another blade sentinel, but the spinning blades bought her only a fraction of a second to back away from Petrov and his shadow as the two quickly destroyed it. She tried another charged bolt trap, but Petrov only smiled as the crackling electricity arced along his ring mail. Again Petrov charged in, driving through Stasya's failing defenses and scoring two more lines of pain across her chest. Tiny embers danced along his weapons now as Petrov charged his weapons with each wound he delivered, ready to strike the killing blow with a fiery explosion. Stasya staggered back away from Petrov as he stalked in, finding herself suddenly up against a table stacked with ancient, highly flammable parchments.

"Two birds with one stone," Stasya's mentor said, smiling as he watched tongues of fire play over the serrated edge of his wrist blade. "You and the parchments, all with a single strike. It will be quick, sweet Stasya. I owe you that."

Petrov drew his arm back to strike, but before he could lunge forward both he and his shadow were caught in a storm of ice blasts. Stasya took the moment to dodge quickly to the side, scrambling away from the icy barrage while Petrov's shadow let out a final scream and dissolved into nothing. Petrov himself shrieked in pain, but the older assassin turned with his former apprentice and charged after her, throwing himself forward and catching Stasya along the back of her thigh. Stasya's pained cry was lost in a brilliant explosion as Petrov's charged blades loosed their fire, hurling the younger assassin forward while Petrov himself disappeared into the flames.

"Stasya!" Tara screamed. The assassin glanced back to see more ice blasts ripping through the library, aimed as much at the flames threatening to consume the books as they were the assassin that had lit the fire. Stasya glanced around quickly, but her mentor had disappeared into the darkness.

"Tara!" the younger assassin called out as she uncorked a healing potion. "Be careful! He's still in here with us!"

Stasya downed her healing potion quickly and backed into a corner, taking as much time as she could for the potion to heal her vicious injuries. Petrov was likely doing the same thing, preparing for a new round of combat, while Tara had at least stopped casting her ice blasts through the library. Several old papers and scrolls had been destroyed by the fiery explosion, but for the moment the flames seemed to have died out. Slowly Stasya pushed herself back to her feet and cautiously made her way back to the front of the library, keeping in the shadows of the bookshelves.

She found Petrov already waiting for her, holding the badly wounded Tara by her hair as he put his freezing katar to her throat.

"Tara or Drognan," her mentor hissed. "Which one lives?"

"Kill him, Stasya," Tara growled out. Petrov yanked her head back and nicked her throat with his katar.

"You only get to have one," Petrov snarled. Desperately Stasya looked around her, trying to find any way to rescue her ally. She would never reach him before he decapitated the sorceress, but Stasya doubted that Petrov had any intention of letting Tara or her walk out of the library alive.

"Kill him already!" Tara gasped. The sorceress struggled to free herself from Petrov's grip, taking his attention from his apprentice for only a moment. It was more time than she needed; Petrov yanked her back into line, but before he could slice through her throat Stasya had drawn and thrown two of her own throwing knives. The weapons burst into flame as they thudded into Petrov's arm, making him cry out in pain and drop his katar on reflex. Tara pulled herself free as the older assassin staggered back and cradled his arm, but Stasya would give him no time. Petrov drew his wrist blade as his apprentice lunged forward, parrying her _kris_ away even as his own blade sentinel spun to life and nicked her arm. The sentinel lasted for only a moment before it shattered in an explosion of ice; Tara rejoined the fray then, throwing the last of her energy into a renewed barrage of ice blasts, forcing Petrov back and weakening his defenses for Stasya. The younger assassin began to charge her own blades, feeling the strength of the Tiger Strike building in her arms, then launched a final, powerful Dragon Tail kick that hurled Petrov back into the wall behind him and blasted the wind from his lungs. Her one time mentor staggered to his knees as he clutched his chest in pain, fumbling for a healing potion that his apprentice had not shattered with her kick. Stasya rushed forward, drawing her _kris_ back for the final strike, but she hesitated as Petrov looked up at her. The sinister fires that had lit his eyes had vanished, replaced by nothing more than a look of utter confusion.

"Stasya," he said quietly. He opened his mouth to speak again, but a final ice blast slammed into his chest, freezing him solid and shattering his crystallized form.

**XXXI**

"Thank you. For saving me."

Stasya said nothing as she stared at the worn surface of the table, sitting across from Tar as the first gray lights of dawn filtered through the Desert Rain's shuttered windows. Not even Elzix was in the tavern room at this early hour, leaving the two young women alone with their wounds. Tara had given up her bloodied robes for a simple gray dress, while Stasya had abandoned her battered armor in favor of a loose pair of pants and a baggy tunic. It was all that Elzix had to offer the two women when they had arrived in the dead of night, but Tara was grateful for the simple courtesy that the one time bandit had offered them. Tara's hand and leg still throbbed in pain where Petrov's throwing knives had wounded and poisoned her, but healing potions had cured much of the injuries that their battle with Stasya's mentor had incurred. Tara shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she watched Stasya trace her finger along the beaten surface of the table sullenly, wondering if she should try to continue an attempt at conversation with her ally. As if reading her mind, Stasya finally looked up at her.

"He was corrupted," the assassin said quietly. "I couldn't let him kill you or Drognan."

"Still, I…" Tara faltered, uncertain how to proceed. She knew little more about Petrov than she had before he had tried to kill her, only his name and the fact that he had at one time been Stasya's teacher in the assassin's arts. The sorceress could not tell for certain how much it had pained Stasya to kill her mentor, but the assassin's melancholy state made Tara think that the two had been quite close, at least at one time. Stasya had killed her own mentor, seemingly one of her closest friends, to save Tara's life. The significance was not lost on the sorceress. "I… I won't forget this," Tara finally said, fighting to find the right words. "I know it wasn't easy for you to do."

"I do what must be done," Stasya explained simply. "I told you that in the Claw Viper temple."

"Yes, you did," Tara said, looking down. She paused a long moment before continuing, swallowing her pride. "I… I was wrong. About you. You're not heartless."

Tara expected a snide remark from the assassin, but Stasya simply dropped her eyes back to the table. Once again the two lapsed into silence, sitting in the tavern room without speaking as they had done most of the night. After their defeat of Petrov Drognan had told Tara to return to her room to get some rest, but, exhausted as she was, the sorceress found herself unable or unwilling to sleep. She had suggested at least once to Stasya that she could take the room, and the bed, to get some rest herself, but the assassin had waved off her offers without saying a word. Tara looked over to the brightening light coming through the shutters as it began to overtake the dim lantern light in the tavern room, then turned back to Stasya.

"It's almost morning," the sorceress observed. "I wonder if the others will come back today."

"It's possible," Stasya answered. Tara studied the assassin for a long moment.

"Would… would you reconsider?" the sorceress asked. Stasya looked up, only a faint trace of curiosity on her face. "About helping us and Deckard Cain, and finding Tal Rasha's Tomb."

Stasya said nothing as she looked down at the table, her face unreadable. Tara wondered if she had spoken too hastily; Petrov had barely been dead one night, and the assassin had not yet recovered from the wounds, both physical and emotional, from the battle. The sorceress was about to apologize for her poor timing when the assassin looked up again, a grim set to her features.

"Baal is already after me," she stated. "He corrupted Petrov and forced me to kill him. I don't think I have much of a choice any more."

"We'll be happy to have you back," Tara said, smiling faintly. The remark seemed only to make Stasya uncomfortable, but the assassin forced out a smile of her own as she stood.

"Thank you," she said. Then she turned and started up to their room.

* * *

They had noticed the change in Lut Gholein's atmosphere from the moment they had stepped through the gates just after sunset. But still he had a hard time accepting what had apparently occurred during the two days that he and the others had been in the Halls of the Dead.

"Stasya, you surprise even me with your benevolence," Wyszemir said, leaning back in his chair with a broad grin on his face. "Of all of us, I thought you were opposed to fool's errands and suicide runs."

"It wasn't a suicide run," Stasya said, refusing to look to the necromancer sitting to her right at the large table they had been given at Atma's public house. Snowhammer had originally thought it would be difficult to gain a table, much less one large enough for all five of the travelers, in the most popular tavern in Lut Gholein, but Atma herself had ushered the group into the tavern and the people that had been sitting at the table had graciously insisted that the assassin and her friends take their seats. Somehow, even though it was Snowhammer, Wyszemir, and Xaviar who had battled hordes of undead and Spear Cats to regain the Horadric Cube, it was Stasya who had become the hero of Lut Gholein by slaying the demon Radament.

"She probably heard about all the treasure down in the sewers," the north man grumbled, somewhat offended by the fact that the haughty assassin had earned more glory than anyone else.

"Yeah," Stasya retorted with a heavy dose of sarcasm. "That's why I went down there."

"She didn't do it for money, Snowhammer," Tara said, a slight edge to her own voice. Snowhammer turned to the sorceress, astounded by the remark. For a moment the barbarian simply gaped, open mouthed, at the sorceress.

"I'm certain she had her reasons," Xaviar said, stepping in to defuse another fight. Snowhammer could barely take his eyes from Tara; what had happened during the two days that he had been in the desert to bring Tara to Stasya's aid? "At any rate, Radament is dead and we have the Horadric Cube. All we need now is the location of Tal Rasha's Tomb. Tara, did you and Drognan find its location yet?"

"No," Tara answered. "It's been slow going at best, but I'm going back first thing in the morning to help him continue his research."

"Then we'll see to restoring the staff with Deckard Cain in the morning," Xaviar decided. He looked to Stasya expectantly, but the assassin only seemed to grow uncomfortable under his gaze. Just as the city had changed since he had been in the desert, Stasya seemed to have been affected just as much, growing quiet and withdrawn rather than constantly belittling her reluctant companions or the mission they had undertaken all through dinner.

"I… I think Stasya has something to say," Tara said, looking to the assassin sitting just to her right. That had been another oddity; Tara was seated just to Xaviar's right, as he had grudgingly come to expect, but she had also positioned herself next to Stasya. For her part, Stasya shot a reluctant glance to her apparent new friend, then turned to Xaviar.

"I… um," Stasya faltered. The paladin gave her a long moment, but she seemed to be lost for words.

"What is it?" Xaviar prompted.

"I… if you still need my help, I'd be willing to come back and help find Tal Rasha's Tomb and stop the Dark Wanderer," Stasya blurted out, even lowering her voice slightly as though someone might hear her. Wyszemir, in the middle of taking a sip of wine, froze in place as he arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "I mean, for a price, of course," the assassin added hastily. "I don't work for nothing."

"These past two days have seen many changes, indeed," Wyszemir said, replacing his glass on the table. Snowhammer opened his mouth to voice his objection to the oftentimes rude assassin's return, but stopped himself as he remembered Tara's bizarre and sudden acceptance of Stasya as a friend. Instead the north man turned to Xaviar, who simply examined Stasya for a long moment.

"If you wish to rejoin us, we would welcome your skill in battle," the paladin finally said, although Snowhammer could detect an unmistakable note of reluctance in his voice. "But I won't deceive you. I can promise you no great treasures after the battle is fought."

"I'll settle for the same deal we had in the desert, paladin," Stasya said. Snowhammer glanced over to her curiously; was there a hint of desperation in her voice? Wyszemir may have picked up on it as well, because as she spoke Snowhammer noticed the necromancer turn another quizzical expression to the young woman. "I take your share as well as mine."

"I…" Xaviar started. He too seemed to sense the assassin's anxiety, as he stopped for a long moment in consideration. "I think something can be worked out," the paladin finally said. Wyszemir let out a low chuckle as he took a final sip of his wine.

"And so we are one happy family again," the necromancer said with a touch of humor. Stasya could barely hide her smile of relief at the paladin's decision to take her back. After a moment, Xaviar stood from his seat.

"I think it's time I got some rest," he said. "I will see you all in the morning."

"Good night, Xaviar," Tara said, standing along with the paladin. She stifled a yawn. "I think I may get some sleep as well," she said. Snowhammer looked up as the two started for the door.

"Well, I think I'll head back that way myself then," the barbarian decided. "After all, it's been a long couple of days, and I could certainly use a good night's sleep."

Wyszemir chuckled faintly, but Snowhammer paid the two remaining members of the group no more heed as he hurried out the door after Tara. He caught up to the sorceress just outside the door, catching her and Xaviar just outside the door.

"What happened?" the barbarian asked, turning to the sorceress. "I… don't you hate Stasya?"

"Well, I… she changed," Tara said, evading a direct answer. Even Xaviar seemed at a loss for the strange explanation. "She… well, she asked me not to really say anything about it."

"It just seems really strange though," Snowhammer pressed, hoping for something more from the sorceress. "Up until we left for the Cube she wanted nothing to do with this."

"I will trust her, as well as Tara's judgment, for the time being," Xaviar said. "And when Stasya is ready, she will tell us what happened. I'm certain of that."

"I'd feel better if I knew what was going on," Snowhammer said. Tara gave him a helpless smile.

"I can't betray her confidence," the sorceress said. "You'll have to trust me, Snowhammer."

A bitter, half formed note of hate formed within the barbarian's mind, but Snowhammer brought it under control quickly.

"I'll trust you," the north man said. Tara smiled, and the three of them resumed their journey back to the Desert Rain.

* * *

It took only a short time to reach the Desert Rain from Atma's public house, and within minutes Xaviar was inside his room, now occupied only by him, on the second floor of the inn. With Radament gone, many people had left the inn, and Stasya's popularity in the city had moved Elzix to loan another three rooms to the small band for minimal charge. The change in quarters was nothing short of a godsend to the paladin; Xaviar was still wrestling with his conscience over whether or not he should be working with Wyszemir to stop the Dark Wanderer, and the sudden change of heart by Stasya, who until he had set out for the Halls of the Dead had been motivated by nothing other than profit, was just one more rough decision that he had been forced to make. Stasya had changed, there was no doubt about that; her demand that she be paid for her services had been to the paladin a transparent ploy to hide her change of heart. Xaviar trusted Tara's judgment, but there too he had many questions; the sorceress' right hand was scarred, something he had not seen before he had gone for the Horadric Cube, and careful observation during dinner showed an identical scar on her palm, as though a knife had punched through her hand. Tara was also hiding something, albeit only because of the assassin's request, but still the entire situation made Xaviar uneasy. The mage slayers were distrusted, at best, by the Zakarum church; they held nothing near the stigma of necromancers, but assassination was still an unacceptable business.

Xaviar moved to his window and opened the shutters partway, allowing the light of the moon to filter into his room as he looked out over the festive city. It was getting late, although midnight was likely at least another hour away, but the Jewel of the Desert sparkled in a way that he had not seen with Radament prowling the streets. Try as he might, however, Xaviar could not find much cheer in himself, despite the fact that they had recovered the Horadric Cube, which now sat in the pack next to his bed, or that Radament had indeed met his end. The paladin turned away from his window with a faint sigh, wishing that, at least for one night, he could forget the quest he had undertaken when Salvian fell, or the moral dilemmas that still raged within him about the true nature of the paladins' recall to Kurast, the reluctant choice to side with a necromancer, or the possibility that he was about to place a young sorceress in a position where she could easily be butchered by two of the three Prime Evils. There were times when the weight of the world seemed to be squarely on his shoulders, threatening to crush him at any moment.

He heard nothing in his room, but something suddenly made Xaviar uneasy. The paladin turned back to the window, squinting his eyes in the darkness of his room. At first he was certain that it was only his imagination, compounding his fears and doubts. Still, he backed up one step to his bed, his hand falling to Order Bar where it stood propped against the foot of his bed.

A sudden explosion of movement spurred him into action. Deathly silent, four ghostly skeletons seemed to melt out of the very darkness, wielding long knives in their bony hands as they advanced on the paladin. Grabbing his shield with one hand, Xaviar spun and ducked out of the way of the first two ghostly Horrors, calling upon his Defiance to shield him as he fought without his armor.

Three of the semi corporeal skeletons turned to him, but Xaviar instantly noted the fourth's actions. As its companions descended mercilessly on the paladin, the fourth hurled Xaviar's splint mail aside and grabbed his pack, ripping it in half as it climbed back to its feet. Xaviar ducked under one knife and brought Order Bar up, crushing one skeleton's jaw as the paladin brought his weapon over his head, then reversed his swing and brought the scepter crashing down into the top of the Horror's skull. Even as that skeleton dropped to the ground and dissolved, Xaviar could see the fourth skeleton remove the Horadric Cube from his torn pack. The remaining two Horrors pushed in at the crusader, trying to pin him against the wall, but they were little more than an afterthought to Xaviar as he saw the final skeleton rushing for the open window.

Xaviar ducked and lowered his shield, desperate to reach the ghostly Horror before it could escape into the night with the Cube. One skeleton's knife tore along his side while Xaviar pushed the other across his bed, but the paladin paid his wound no heed as he charged forward with all his might. The thief turned to him in the last instant, far too late to avoid the collision. Xaviar slammed home with both his shield and Order Bar, delivering a powerful stroke of Vengeance that lit the room for an instant with arcs of lightning and tongues of flame. The Horror dropped the Cube as it tried to fend off its attacker, but Xaviar was one step ahead of his opponent. A sweeping blow from his scepter tore the thing's incorporeal head from its shoulders, sending it back to the Hell that spawned it.

The last two Horrors were on him then, scoring another slash along Xaviar's back before he could turn to face the new threat. Shouting in pain, the paladin whirled with his shield, knocking one of the ghostly attackers away as he focused his Zeal on the other, firing away with a rapid series of crushing blows that forced the skeleton back on its heels. Xaviar rushed forward, ready to finish the staggered Horror off, but before he could do so a thin cord snaked around his throat, cutting off his air. The ghostly Horror behind him nearly lifted the paladin off the ground as it tried to strangle him, but somehow Xaviar maintained his consciousness as he fought to free himself from the iron grip. Behind the struggling combatants, someone knocked lightly at his door.

"Xaviar?" Tara called out. Xaviar tried to call her name, but he could not utter a single sound under the Horror's attack. The other skeleton was slowly getting to its feet, taking its wicked knife in its hand again as it saw the helpless crusader. "Xaviar, are you there? It's me, Tara."

Xaviar shoved back with all his might, forcing the horror back and loosening its grip on him for the briefest instant. Xaviar once again tried to scream for help, but all the paladin could manage was a strangled gasp.

"Xaviar?" Tara called out, more urgently this time. Darkness was beginning to eat away at the edges of his sight as the other Horror silently leapt across the bed and stalked towards the door. "Xaviar? What's going on? Are you all right?"

Xaviar tried to swing Order Bar around to dislodge the Horror on his back, but the scepter merely glanced off the skeleton's pelvis without doing any harm. Spluttering on the verge of consciousness, the crusader finally launched himself backward with all his might, just as Tara shoved through his unlocked door. The Horror behind him slammed into the wall, loosening its grip and allowing Xaviar a gulp of much needed air.

"Tara, on your lef-" the paladin choked out before the Horror snapped its garrote taut once more. The sorceress yelped in fear as the second ghostly attacker slashed away at her, barely slicing through the burgundy dress she wore as she stumbled back into the hallway. Without another thought Tara was raising her arms to cast, smashing her assailant with a flurry of ice blasts as it tried to rush her. Ice and frost ripped through the room as the sorceress desperately warded off the Horror, her poorly aimed and frantic blasts tearing through the walls and the streaking out the window as often as they impacted into her translucent opponent. The Horror stumbled back into the room under the brunt of the assault even as Xaviar spun to face the wall and throw his own foe into the path of one errant ice blast.

The bone chilling cold of Tara's spell nearly froze Xaviar to the core, but it had far more of an effect on the Horror that took it squarely in its ribs. The thing immediately released Xaviar as it fell back, realizing its mistake only a second later as it drew a thick mace from its belt and squared off against its opponent. Xaviar raised his scepter and shield to meet the attacker, but a new barrage of ice slammed into the Horror before he could take a step forward. The last of the ghostly Horrors dropped to the ground and dissolved into the shadows, leaving the paladin alone with Tara and the Horadric Cube.

"Xaviar, are you all right?" Tara exclaimed, rushing to his side as he slumped back against the wall.

"I'll be fine," Xaviar replied, his voice still hoarse from his injuries. "More importantly, we still have the Cube."

"What in all of Hell just happened?" Stasya exclaimed, rushing into Xaviar's room. Wyszemir was only a step behind, followed only a moment after that by Snowhammer. "Half of the street outside is caked in ice!"

"We had visitors," Xaviar explained. "Horrors came for the Horadric Cube."

"I assume we still have the artifact?" Wyszemir inquired, glancing past the paladin. Xaviar nodded as he picked up the etched golden box from the floor.

"We'll have to post a guard on it," he stated. "If they come back again, they will likely try force instead of stealth."

"Wait a minute, that's my dress!" Stasya said suddenly, recognizing the elegant burgundy gown that Tara wore. The sorceress turned on her in shock.

"Um, I… well, I just wanted to try it on," Tara explained, nearly tripping over her words. "And then… I, uh… I thought I heard something in here, and… sorry about the rip?"

"I want it back," Stasya said, turning and walking out of the room. "Tell me when I have to babysit the box. Otherwise, I'm going to sleep."

"Quite the eventful evening," Wyszemir said, turning a faintly amused look to the sorceress. Xaviar noted as well for the first time that Tara must have gone to some length to pretty herself for some reason, beyond simply borrowing the dress. Her hair was brushed out and tied back, and a hint of rouge had been applied to her cheeks. Xaviar hazarded a quick glance to Snowhammer, but the barbarian was pointedly looking away from either the sorceress or the paladin. A terrible realization dawned upon Xaviar as his eyes darted from one to the other. Tara had not known anything about the assault before she had knocked on his door. "I think I shall be studying for some short while, at any rate, so I will take the Cube for the time being."

"No, that's okay," Snowhammer said, quickly striding across the room and taking the Cube from Xaviar. "I… I'm not tired, anyway. I'll take it for the night."

"As you wish, north man," Wyszemir said. The necromancer waited just inside Xaviar's room for a long moment, until Snowhammer finally turned and hurried out of the chamber. With the barbarian gone, Wyszemir turned an amused expression on the sorceress.

"Burgundy is your color, dear," the death mage observed with a chuckle. Tara opened her mouth, trying to form any words, but she could say nothing as Wyszemir clasped his hands behind his back and strolled out of the room. Finally, she turned back to Xaviar, an almost terrified expression on her face.

"I…" she began. Xaviar crossed the room to join her near the door.

"We could all use some sleep right now," Xaviar said gently, taking her hand. "It's been a long night. Perhaps we can talk in the morning?"

"I… would like that," Tara replied hesitantly.

"Good," Xaviar said with a smile, escorting her to the door. "I'll see you for breakfast."

"Okay," Tara said. Without another word she turned and hurried to her own room, leaving Xaviar alone once again. Silently the paladin walked back into his frosted room, and shut the door behind him.

Now, things could not get much worse.


	18. Under the Palace

**XXXII**

"Guess I should have seen that coming, anyway."

It was getting close to dawn as Snowhammer paced his small room at the Desert Rain, still guarding the Horadric Cube in case the demons of the desert tried once again to steal the artifact. He had been awake the entire night, almost praying for another attempt on the ancient item so that he could vent his frustrations, but the failed attack on Xaviar seemed to be the extent of the Horrors' ambition. Wyszemir had assured the barbarian that he would take over sentry duty as soon as the north man was tired, but for now Snowhammer had no interest in sleeping. He had suspected it for some time, but seeing Tara's blatant attempt at catching Xaviar's attention the previous night had simply been too painful to allow him any true rest. With a muttered curse the north man turned back to the cube sitting silently on his bed.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," Snowhammer told the artifact, trying to convince himself. "I hope they're happy together."

"You don't really mean that," came an unexpected reply. Snowhammer backed away from the cube for a step before he realized that the voice had come from behind him, at the window. Quickly the barbarian turned, grabbing his maul to meet the new threat. Sitting in the window, Ishmael grinned as he turned to the barbarian. "To think that a self righteous, uncompromising paladin should deserve one as fair as Tara."

"What are you doing here?" Snowhammer demanded, raising his maul in preparation to strike. Ishmael chuckled slightly as he drew his pipe from his robes. "Who are you?"

"Call me-"

"Ishmael," Snowhammer interrupted. "I know your name. That's not what I asked."

"I am your friend, Snowhammer," Ishmael replied, knocking his pipe out against the outside wall of the inn. "I hate to see you like this, torn apart by a girl's fickle whims. It's doubly sad to think that, once she has outgrown her childish desire for the knight in shining armor, that she will have already lost you to the northern steppes."

"She wants him, not me," Snowhammer said, trying to force a tone of finality to his statement. "That's all there is to it. No more games."

"Games," Ishmael repeated with a broad grin. "Don't you see? Games are what this is all about, Snowhammer! Do you think Xaviar truly wants her, for any reason other than to spite you? But I have a thought for you, a game you could play in return."

"I don't want to play any of your games," Snowhammer declared. Ishmael chuckled despite his attempts to contain his mirth.

"It is a simple game," the stranger said, repacking his pipe. "Why do you suppose Xaviar won her in the first place?"

"I don't know," Snowhammer said. Ishmael nodded sagely.

"Xaviar won her because he knew your game," the stranger explained. "He saw your desire for her when you first found her. Once he saw that, he played the part of the aloof yet caring paladin, undermining your true feelings for her from the day your party set out from your ruined caravan. She loved that from him, Snowhammer. He showed care only when he needed to, and she desired him because he seemed unreachable, unobtainable."

"That is his way," Snowhammer said. Ishmael laughed again, nearly losing his balance but catching himself before he could fall out of the window.

"That is his game!" the stranger countered merrily. Then he grew serious. "But I can undo his game, Snowhammer. I can make Tara see you as you see her. She would be yours, and it would not even cost you your so called friendship with the paladin."

"How?" Snowhammer asked warily. Ishmael smiled as he hopped out of the window and into the room. His pipe, and indeed his whole face, vanished for a moment behind a cloud of black fabric as his cloak whirled around him, but when he came back into view Ishmael had lit his pipe and taken a long puff of smoke. Snowhammer backed away and hefted his maul once more, vaguely remembering the bizarre affects of Ishmael's tobacco smoke. The stranger eyed him curiously, as if he was surprised at such a defensive move.

"When we last met, you had imbibed far too much ale," the stranger said. "That is why the tobacco stung you so badly. This is a potent mix from the deep desert. Would you care to share some?"

"No, thank you," Snowhammer replied. Ishmael shrugged, taking a long moment to savor the smoke. "How would you make her love me?" Snowhammer finally prompted, growing frustrated with the stranger.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, Tara," Ishmael said. "Let us say that the methods… do not concern you."

"And why would you do this for me?" Snowhammer asked. Ishmael smiled innocently.

"I ask a mere trifle," the stranger said, his gaze turning meaningfully to the Horadric Cube. "You see, I am a collector of antiquities. That cube would go nicely in my collection."

"We… need that," Snowhammer said. "Perhaps I can give it to you tomorrow, or when we're done with it."

"Ah, that is a problem," Ishmael said. "For I must leave before the sun crests the ocean. I am a busy man, Snowhammer, but if you could see fit to give me the cube now, I would gladly take time to… show Tara the error she is making."

"You… can't have it," Snowhammer said, fighting off the urge to give Ishmael the cube. Was it such a terrible price? Even if they could not recreate the staff, surely his maul could break through any wall in a desert tomb…

"You will lose her if you don't act now, Snowhammer," Ishmael said. Snowhammer knew he was right. Maybe, if he acted quickly, he could still regain Tara from the paladin. "You don't need the staff," Ishmael continued. "It is just a formality. You can break down any wall."

"Get away from me!" Snowhammer shouted suddenly, breaking the stranger's spell. The barbarian launched a vicious swing of his maul, but by the time it connected with Ishmael he had already vanished into a puff of pungent smoke.

* * *

It was no real surprise to Xaviar as he descended the stairs to the tavern room that he was the first person awake. The paladin had managed precious little sleep through the night, and had risen with the first gray lights of morning. Although he already wore his splint mail and carried his weapons and shield with him, the paladin moved silently into the tavern room, not wishing to upset the quiet of the early morning. Despite his care, Elzix appeared at the bar before Xaviar could even take a seat at one of the tables, smiling as he came out into the tavern room.

"It's an early morning for you, paladin," the former bandit said. "What can I get you?"

"Some of that coffee you serve," Xaviar replied quietly. "And some breakfast."

"Of course," Elzix said, nodding and disappearing into the kitchen. Xaviar watched the door for a moment, then looked back up to the second floor. None of his companions had come down yet, something the paladin was momentarily thankful for. It gave him a last few moments to think about the previous night's events.

It had never occurred to Xaviar before the failed attempt to steal the Horadric Cube that Tara viewed him as anything more than a competent commander or a friend. Indeed, for over two years Xaviar had not even considered the thought that Tara, or any other woman for that matter, could develop feelings for him. Ever since he had left the northlands on his return to Kurast, Xaviar had forced himself to think tactically and objectively, growing lean on feelings of his own as he fought his way through demons of almost every description. Constant delays on the road to Kurast frustrated him to no end, diverting his attention from the people around him to focus on overcoming each of the myriad obstacles in his path.

Tara's appearance the previous night, however, forced Xaviar to look at her in a different light. The sorceress was young, likely a decade younger than the crusader, but her innocence and her youthful energy were a joy to be around. With time to consider the matter, Xaviar had to admit that the girl was extremely attractive, and her sparkling blue eyes were a trait that the paladin suddenly found himself admiring. Indeed, if Xaviar had allowed himself time to consider it in the desert, he may have found himself feeling much the way Snowhammer did about the girl. And, of course, Snowhammer's obvious feelings for the girl made his situation even more tenuous. He had no desire to hurt the north man, but the paladin had the feeling that he would if he even considered a relationship with Tara.

Elzix cleared his throat suddenly. Xaviar looked up with a start, surprised that the innkeeper had gotten to his table without the paladin even noticing him, but Xaviar forced himself to relax as Elzix placed a cup of coffee and a plate of warm bread on the table.

"I hope I didn't disturb you," the one time bandit said with a smile. "Compliments of the house, paladin."

"Thank you," Xaviar said. Elzix nodded and started back to the bar, but paused and looked to the steps. Tara hesitated for a moment on the last stair to the tavern room, her eyes on Xaviar.

"Good morning, young mistress," Elzix said cheerily. "Can I get you something for breakfast as well?"

"I… um, I'm not really hungry, right now," Tara answered. Elzix nodded once more and started back into the kitchen. Tara delayed for another second before smoothing out her simple gray dress and cautiously approaching Xaviar's table. "Good morning," she said quietly. She glanced at the paladin's armor and weapons for a moment. "Um, could… could I sit?"

"Of course," Xaviar said, standing and pulling out the seat next to him for her. Tara slid into the chair quickly, and Xaviar returned to his seat. For a long moment the two sat in an awkward silence, Tara's eyes darting all around them as she tried to gather her wits.

"Xaviar, I… I don't know what got into me last night," the sorceress finally began, finally turning to the paladin. "I… um, what I mean, is…" Tara faltered, looking down at the table. "I shouldn't have done that." She laughed nervously. "I even ruined Stasya's dress on her."

"I'm certain Stasya won't mind," Xaviar said. He paused momentarily before continuing. "It fit you quite well."

Tara's eyes shot back up to the paladin.

"You mean it?" she asked quietly. Xaviar nodded. "I… I just wish it was blue," the sorceress said, sounding both hesitant and hopeful. "I… I've been told I look better in blue. Maybe I could find one here, and… once this is over, um, we could celebrate?"

Xaviar shook his head as his gaze lowered to the table.

"Tara, even after we have found Tal Rasha's Tomb and stopped the Dark Wanderer, it is not over for me," the paladin explained. "I still must return to Kurast, where the Lord of Hatred threatens to overwhelm the land with the jungle and hordes of demons. I have lost so much time already that I cannot delay even a day after our quest here is finished."

"I'll come with you," Tara offered without any hesitation. Xaviar shook his head.

"I can't ask that of you," the paladin said, his eyes dropping once more. "You have suffered too much already at the hands of the Three. I don't want to see you hurt again."

"It would hurt me if you left me behind," Tara said, moving closer to the crusader. "I don't want to be without you. I don't think I really realized it until last night, but… I love you, Xaviar."

Xaviar considered her statement for a long moment, staring down at the table while Tara seemed to edge slightly closer. Finally, the paladin looked back to her, for a moment nearly losing himself in her deep blue eyes.

"I…" Xaviar faltered, suddenly unsure of how to proceed. Part of him wanted to take her in his arms, to kiss her and allow the rest of the world to fall away, at least for the moment, but his duty to Kurast, to all of Sanctuary, forced him to stay his hand. "Tara, I want nothing more than to be able to return your affections," the paladin said. "But I cannot rest yet. At least not until our work here is done."

"I… understand," Tara said, almost whispering. Her voice cracked slightly as she continued. "Perhaps… perhaps after we have found Tal Rasha's Tomb…"

"Perhaps," Xaviar agreed quietly, forcing out a weak smile. "In another time, another place…"

"I know," Tara said, blinking back tears. She stood slowly, pausing for a moment, then kissed Xaviar. Finally she pulled away, trailing one delicate hand along his cheek. "I have to go to Drognan," she explained. "I… hope to see you soon."

Tara turned and hurried out of the tavern. Xaviar watched the door for a long moment, then turned to the untouched food before him. Finally the paladin stood, no longer hungry, and started back up to the second floor to retrieve the Horadric Cube and the pieces of the Horadric Staff.

* * *

He just caught sight of Xaviar leaving Snowhammer's room as he shut his own door behind him, but speaking with the paladin was hardly something he wished to attempt before breakfast.

Wyszemir clasped his hands behind his back and started down to the tavern room of the Desert Rain slowly, willing to give Xaviar enough time to clear the inn before he showed himself on the first floor. Although the events of the previous night had certainly added a new twist to the relationships that had finally strengthened over the last several days, Wyszemir was willing to try a cup of Elzix' coffee before investigating just how much had changed with Tara's little display. If nothing else, the fact that Xaviar had left Snowhammer's room with the Horadric Cube and without any injuries told the necromancer that the two were still on speaking terms.

Wyszemir reached the tavern room without seeing any of his other companions, easily sliding into the chair that Xaviar must have abandoned, considering the half drunk cup of coffee and the untouched bread sitting on the table. Elzix himself appeared at the bar almost immediately, smiling as he returned to the table.

"Good morning, sir," the innkeeper said, taking Xaviar's cup away. "Can I get you something?"

"Some coffee," the necromancer replied. "I suppose this bread will make a good beginning to my morning."

"Yes," Elzix agreed. "I guess the paladin wasn't hungry?"

"He is under some amount of stress," Wyszemir answered with an amused smile. Elzix chuckled slightly at the remark as he started back to the bar. Wyszemir turned back to the bread, picking up a piece and taking a tiny bite as he heard movement on the steps. The necromancer did not even bother to turn to the heavy footfalls, merely smiling as Snowhammer sank into the chair opposite him. "Good morning, north man," the death mage said lightly. "Care for some bread? It is quite good, I assure you."

"No, thank you," Snowhammer said sullenly, his eyes on the table in front of him.

"Suit yourself," Wyszemir said, taking another bite of his bread. Snowhammer sat in silence until Elzix returned with Wysemir's coffee, placing the cup in front of the necromancer and turning to the north man.

"Nothing for me," Snowhammer stated before the innkeeper could even ask. Elzix nodded and disappeared into the back of the bar, leaving the two men alone. Snowhammer looked at the death mage for a moment, then turned to the door. "Xaviar left already?"

"He did," Wyszemir answered. "I suppose he wanted his staff ready as soon as Drognan uncovered Tal Rasha's Tomb."

"It'll be good to get this over with," Snowhammer decided, his eyes dropping to the table again. Wyszemir took a sip of his piping hot coffee as he regarded the north man.

"I would have taken the Cube last night, and let you get some sleep," the death mage finally said, setting his cup down gently on the table. Snowhammer shrugged without looking to his companion.

"I wasn't tired," the barbarian replied. Wyszemir chuckled faintly at the statement.

"Yes, the… events of the previous night were very stimulating," Wyszemir said, grinning slightly. Snowhammer cast an angry glare at the necromancer. "I myself was rather surprised by all the happenings."

"Shut up," Snowhammer grumbled. Wyszemir chuckled again.

"She is not the only one in the world," the death mage pointed out in a faintly amused tone. Snowhammer scowled at the remark. "Perhaps there is a dusky hued maiden waiting in this very city to take the place of that insecure, uncertain girl you have been so infatuated with."

"How about you not try to cheer me," Snowhammer growled, glaring across the table. Wyszemir smirked at the north man.

"As you wish," the necromancer said. "Be that as it may, however, will you continue with us to the tomb? Or has your motivation… gone elsewhere?"

"I said I would help destroy Diablo," Snowhammer said. "To turn back on that now would bring dishonor to my clan."

Wyszemir nodded at the statement.

"Then put her and her flighty desires behind you," the necromancer stated, growing serious. "There will be hard battles ahead. Your mind must be on the present, for I will not die because you are too busy trying to impress her."

"You have nothing to worry about," Snowhammer stated coldly. Without another word the barbarian stood and stalked out of the tavern. Wyszemir watched the doorway for a long moment before taking another sip of his coffee.

"I have nothing to worry about," the death mage said quietly. "I wonder if Xaviar could say the same thing."

* * *

"Excellent! You have the Horadric Cube!"

"Yes," Xaviar said, holding the etched golden box out for Deckard Cain. The old sage took the cube, turning it over in his hands as he examined the artifact. "I hope you know how to use it. We don't even know how to open it."

"Fortunately, your ally Stasya stumbled upon the very scrolls that contained the Cube's lore," Deckard Cain said, turning a smile to the paladin. "The Light has certainly touched you and your allies, Xaviar. But we must hurry, for Diablo is also searching for his brother's tomb. Have you brought the Staff of Kings and the Viper Amulet?"

"I have," Xaviar replied, taking the items from his pack. Deckard Cain took the short, gnarled Staff of Kings first, setting the cube on the sandy cobbles of the market and holding the staff directly above it. With a faint effort the old sage simply pushed the staff directly into the cube. As Xaviar watched in surprise, the old sage took the Viper Amulet next, holding its snakelike pendant just above the cube before plunging his hand into the etched gold. As Cain removed his hand from the cube, Xaviar turned to him. "Is that all?" the paladin asked.

"I believe it will take a moment to reform," Deckard Cain answered. The old sage knelt next to the box, feeling along its sides for a moment, before closing his eyes and concentrating on something. "Yes, I believe it should be reformed now," Cain decided, standing up and gesturing to Xaviar. Hesitantly, the paladin dropped to one knee and put his gauntleted hand over the top of the cube. With an encouraging nod from the old sage, Xaviar closed his eyes and reached directly through the golden top of the cube, meeting almost no resistance as his fingers searched through a far larger space than the box seemed capable of holding. Finally, with his arm inside the small box past his elbow, the crusader found a smooth shaft, and carefully pulled the staff out of the cube.

The Horadric Staff looked nothing like its components as Xaviar withdrew the item. Where the Staff of Kings had been gnarled and barely longer than three feet, the Horadric Staff was at least twice as long, its entire shaft a single, smooth length of ebony wood. The snakelike Viper Amulet had also transformed into a medallion of white gold, set in its center with a small, flawless diamond. As Xaviar examined the newly recreated artifact in wonder, Cain smiled faintly.

"It has been some time since a Horadric Staff has seen the light of day," the old sage said. "Now we must find Tal Rasha's Tomb."

"I'll see Drognan immediately," Xaviar said, regaining his composure. The paladin turned to start into the city to find Drognan's shop, but was stopped immediately as Tara practically ran into him.

"Xaviar!" she exclaimed, skidding to a halt. Her eyes sparkled with joy as she wrapped the paladin in a tight embrace. "I think we found it!"

"Found it?" Xaviar repeated as he separated from the sorceress. "You found Tal Rasha's Tomb?"

"I think so!" Tara replied, taking Xaviar's hand and practically dragging him away from the market. "Come on, the others are already on their way to Drognan's!"

Still holding onto the Horadric Staff, Xaviar let Tara lead him through the city streets, finding himself in front of the old wizard's shop in surprisingly little time. Tara pushed through the door eagerly, pulling Xaviar along behind her in her haste. Xaviar's eyes took a moment to adjust to the relative gloom of the interior, but even as his sight recovered Tara let go of his hand and took an unconscious step away from him. The others had arrived at the shop beforehand; Wyszemir looked up from a shelf that contained a handful of wands, while Stasya hopped down from the counter where she was sitting. Snowhammer, on the far side of the small shop, simply looked away from the pair as they entered. Xaviar took a half step away from the young sorceress, hoping not to make the situation any worse.

"Thank you for waiting," Drognan said, appearing almost on cue from a door behind the counter. "Ah, and Tara has found Xaviar, as well. Very good."

"You know where Tal Rasha's Tomb is?" Xaviar asked, turning immediately to the wizard.

"As you know, I've been researching the old records, with Tara's assistance, to find the answer to that question," Drognan explained. "Though I haven't found the tomb itself, I may have a good lead for you. Several of my records were destroyed in the assassin's attack, but thanks to Stasya and Tara, I and my tomes were saved from total destruction."

Xaviar, Snowhammer, and Wyszemir all glanced to Stasya.

"A good lead?" the assassin repeated, shifting uncomfortably under the others' gaze. Tara's fading scars and Stasya's sudden change now made much more sense to the paladin. "That's the best you can do?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Drognan answered. "The great Vizjerai summoner, Horazon, built his Arcane Sanctuary somewhere around here. He was a powerful spellcaster, and kept demons as slaves within the sanctuary. He kept a close eye on events, too, such as the imprisonment of Baal in Tal Rasha's Tomb. If you could find Horazon's sanctuary, I am sure that it would hold some sort clue as to the Tomb's location. But be wary, for while Horazon is long gone, three is no telling what may still inhabit his ancient retreat."

"That's great," Snowhammer said. "We have a clue to find a clue."

"It's more than we had before," Xaviar said, trying to hide his own frustration at the news. Another day, another battle, while the Dark Wanderer increased his lead and Kurast fell more and more to Mephisto. "Do you know exactly where the Arcane Sanctuary is?"

"When I spoke with Lord Jerhyn about this matter, he asked that I send you to him at his palace as soon as I could," Drognan said in reply. "I have a feeling he knows of a secret entrance or the like. I suggest you go now, for every moment we delay brings the Dark Wanderer closer to his goal."

"Then we have no time to lose," Xaviar decided. He looked to the others. "Unless anyone needs to get anything, we'll head to the palace immediately."

**XXXIII**

The noonday sun glittered off of the towering minarets of Lord Jerhyn's palace, but the elegant spires and the beautifully carved stone pillars that flanked the wide, arched gate were of little concern to Wyszemir as he and his companions reached the front gates of the citadel. The necromancer's gaze instead focused on the men of Lut Gholein's true watch. Greiz' mercenaries wore a motley collection of armor and clothing, their only constants being the red sash and turban that denoted them as members of the mercenary unit. These men wore impeccably polished, shining chain mail and carried heavy spears or scimitars, their armor and pointed helms wrapped in royal blue turbans and sashes. Their weapons were as well kept as their spotless armor, their blades sharp and glittering in the desert sun. But despite their well maintained equipment, Wyszemir could see exhaustion in their eyes and on their haggard features. The six men guarding the palace gate looked as though they had been through many days and nights of trying battles, but there should have been little to fight off rather than boredom, or perhaps an overeager harem girl. As the death mage slowed to ponder this oddity, Xaviar strode up the wide steps of the palace. Immediately two guards blocked his path, crossing their spears in front of him.

"You may not pass," the older of the two guards said, a grim set to his dark, bearded face.

"We are here to see Lord Jerhyn, who sent for us from the sage Drognan," the crusader stated. "I am Xaviar, Paladin of Zakarum."

"I thank you for coming so quickly," another man said, appearing at the palace gate. Dressed in flowing, pure white robes and a royal blue vest trimmed in gold, Wyszemir could only assume that this newcomer was Lord Jerhyn himself. The ruler of Lut Gholein was certainly younger than the necromancer had expected; Jerhyn could barely be into his third decade, wit sharp brown eyes and jet colored hair that was largely covered by the gold and white turban he wore. "I am Jerhyn, Lord of Lut Gholein," the newcomer said. "I thank you for coming so quickly."

"Drognan said you wished to speak to us on a matter of importance," Xaviar said. Jerhyn nodded.

"Indeed," the noble affirmed. "Please, follow me."

Jerhyn turned and started back into the palace. Xaviar cast a glance over his shoulder, but then began after the lord. Wyszemir allowed the others ahead of him, and as the necromancer passed the two guards that had stopped Xaviar, he slowed and smiled to the man that had spoken.

"Stay out of trouble," the sentry advised.

"Ah, if only it were so easy," Wyszemir mused, a smirk on his face. The guard scowled at him, but said nothing more as the necromancer passed him and followed his companions inside the bright corridor. Sun shone in from windows high on the walls, while the sandstone walls of the palace were decorated with simple, yet elegant tapestries of blue and gold.

"When the troubles began here, I allowed the terrified Harem Guilds to join me in the safety of the palace," Jerhyn said as Wyszemir caught up to the group. In front of the noble, a winding stairwell led down into the lower levels of the palace, watched over by another pair of guards. Little could be seen past the first few steps, as the light itself seemed to be absorbed by the darkness. "All was fine, until one night, screams echoed up the stairwells from the harems. My guards arrived to find the poor girls being slaughtered by a merciless band of hell spawned demons. Although they have fought bravely, my guardsmen have been unable to push the demons back into the mysterious rift in the lowest levels of the palace cellar."

"This rift," Wyszemir said thoughtfully, "where does it lead to?"

"We don't know," Jerhyn replied. "Ever since that night, my guards have been fighting a losing battle against the demons. Ultimately, I was forced to hire Greiz and his mercenaries to help protect the city, while my men try to stem the tide of demons from below. But Drognan believes that the Arcane Sanctuary lies buried beneath the palace, since Lut Gholein occupies the site of an ancient Vizjerai fortress. I do not know if the rift is indeed the entrance to that place, or if you can even reach it, but my palace is open to you."

"Of course," Stasya muttered. "Where else would the entrance to the Arcane Sanctuary be?"

"Drognan seems confident enough," Xaviar pointed out.

"The ancient Vizjerai did enslave many demons," Wyszemir observed. "Perhaps Horazon's prisoners have finally been able to find a way out of their prison."

"We have no other leads," Snowhammer said. "What else do we have to lose?"

"Besides our lives? Nothing at all," Stasya answered sarcastically. Snowhammer shot a cold glare at the assassin, but seemed reluctant to directly challenge her in light of Tara's newfound bond with Stasya.

"We won't know if it's the right place until we find it," Xaviar said, drawing his scepter. "And we're running out of time, if we want to find the Dark Wanderer and stop him."

"The first level of the harem is typically unoccupied," Jerhyn said. "My guards have been able to hold the demons at the stairwells, for the time being. Beyond that, I cannot tell you what to expect."  
"We've faced enough unknown horrors in the desert," Snowhammer said, shouldering his maul. "We'll find our way through."

"Take care," Jerhyn said. Xaviar gave the lord a reassuring smile, then carefully made his way into the darkness.

* * *

"How I let myself get talked into things like this."

"You can go back, if you like," Snowhammer said, turning back to Stasya. The assassin was barely visible in the gloom of the palace harem; no light penetrated the darkness, and what few torches remained had nearly burned down to the sconces that held them. Stasya, for her part, shot the north man a notably false smile.

"It looks like Jerhyn was right," Xaviar said, making his way through the dim harem. The ornate blue and whiter marble floor was obscured by a number of large, lavish pillows and wide beds covered in silken sheets, marred only occasionally by a trace of blood. Tara remained close to Xaviar as the paladin made his way slowly through the opulent rooms, while Wyszemir seemed almost disinterested with the situation. "Let's find our way down into the cellar, and see if we can locate the rift."

"Would that we arrived before the demons did," Wyszemir said lightly, idling examining a pillow on the ground before him. "If only we had not tarried so long in the desert."

"Are you sure you'd know what to do in a place like this?" Stasya inquired as she passed the necromancer. Wyszemir smiled faintly.

"I think I could have puzzled it out," he said. Stasya rolled her eyes. Snowhammer ignored the pair as he moved into a side chamber, and found himself looking at a large staircase that led even further beneath the palace.

"I found the stairs," the north man called out. Xaviar and Tara joined him a moment later, followed quickly by Wyszemir and Stasya. "Looks like there's no light down there at all."

"Here," Stasya said, handing her glowing jewel over to Snowhammer. "I may as well lead, since the rest of you would just stumble into a trap."

"All right," Xaviar said. "Just be careful."

Stasya allowed herself a derisive smile at Xaviar's concern, then carefully began down the stairs. Snowhammer hefted his maul and followed after a short moment, keeping the assassin's jewel in his free hand as he descended into the second level of the harem.

In the light of the jewel, the barbarian could easily see the slaughter that had taken place. Directly in front of the steps, a palace guard had been impaled on his own spear and propped up as an apparent warning to the soldiers above not to enter the cellar. Bloodstains covered the marble floors, while what furniture remained had been soaked in blood or torn to shreds. Slowly Snowhammer moved forward, trying to locate Stasya in the darkness as the others descended.

"By the Light," Tara whispered, staying close to Xaviar's side.

"Quite a mess they made," Wyszemir noted, unfazed by the carnage around him.

"Let's keep moving," Xaviar said, starting past the impaled guard. Stasya seemed to simply appear from the darkness in front of him.

"Skeletons ahead and to our left," the assassin reported. "Their bones are so dark that they blend into the shadows."

"Horrors," Wyszemir concluded. "More of your friends from the Desert Rain, Xaviar."

"Can we get past them?" Xaviar asked, trying to see into the darkness.

"Possibly, if we go to the right," Stasya answered, pointing to the dim outline of a door only a few yards away.

Three arrows suddenly slammed into the assassin, spinning her around and knocking her to the ground.

"Cover!" Xaviar ordered, raising his crown shield as more arrows shot out of the darkness. The paladin dropped low as he moved in front of Stasya, catching one of the shafts in his arm but managing to deflect most of the barrage. Tara threw off a quick volley of ice blasts, but suddenly a wall of bone appeared between the small group and their unseen attackers.

"Stasya, are you all right?" Xaviar asked, glancing over his shoulder. From the other side of the wall, a mighty bellow echoed through the harem, followed quickly by the sound of bones breaking under tremendous impacts. Stasya lifted herself to her knees weakly, trying to gauge her injuries. Two arrows had simply skimmed her, but the third had found an opening in her armor and embedded itself in her side.

"I'll live," the assassin said quietly.

"We should make haste," Wyszemir said, glancing back to his allies. "The wall will not hold for much longer."

"Then let's move," Xaviar directed, helping Stasya to her feet. "Snowhammer, take the lead. And be careful, we don't know how many more of those archers are down here."

"You got it," Snowhammer said, relieved to finally be back in combat. Finally, he would be able to vent his frustrations, to channel his anger into something useful…

Two skeletons, their hands wreathed in frost and ice, greeted him as Snowhammer barreled through the door Stasya had indicated. The Horrors raised their hands to cast, but Snowhammer bellowed out a war cry as he surged forward, shattering the first mage's rib cage with a powerful swipe of his maul. Bone chilling cold washed across the north man's scale mail as he whirled his maul on the second skeleton, smashing its shoulders and skull to powder before its remains even hit the floor.

A half dozen arrows thudded into the walls and bounced off of Snowhammer's armor. The barbarian could see a dozen skeletal archers or more ahead of him, drawing their bows to loose another volley. The north man raced forward for all he was worth, trying to reach the Horror archers before they could fire again, but even as he neared them he could tell he would never be in time.

A sudden flurry of bone spears exploded past him, slamming through two skeletons at a time in places. The shattered remains of the Horrors seemed to reanimate as quickly as they fell, rising again as skeletal mages that turned on their brethren. As the two skeleton forces battled each other, Snowhammer turned back to see Wyszemir stroll into the room casually, his yew wand even tucked into his sash.

"I thought you might appreciate the aid," the necromancer said with a faint smirk. "Big hammers seem to offer little protection from arrows and the like."

"I would have managed, but thanks for the help," Snowhammer said.

"Of course," Wyszemir said, a not of sarcasm seeping into his words and the smirk on his face. Behind him, Tara helped Stasya through the doorway as the assassin recovered from the initial attack. They had barely cleared the door when Xaviar crashed into the frame, holding his shield defensively in front of him as a menacing snarl rumbled out of an unseen attacker.

"Keep moving!" Xaviar ordered, backing through the door as another pair of arrows ricocheted off his shield. A giant demon shoved its way through the door a moment later, raising its bronze studded club over its head and scraping the ceiling with its weapon.

"Didn't we leave these guys behind in the desert?" Snowhammer asked, recognizing the Blunderbore as it barged into the room. Wyszemir cast quickly, throwing off a curse on the demon even as Xaviar sidestepped its powerful swing and slammed his scepter down on its head.

"Let's not stick around and ask them how they got here," Stasya snapped, throwing one of her charged bolt traps through the door. The arcane device crackled to life immediately, illuminating in brief flashes the skeletal archers moving into positions around the door. Xaviar dropped back another step as more arrows began to shoot through the doorway.

"Follow me!" Snowhammer shouted, taking the lead once more. The north man charged through another doorway, finding himself in a large, open room littered with the remnants of harem girls and, more importantly, more of the Horror mages. Without hesitation Snowhammer threw himself forward, accepting the freezing blast he caught in his chest in order to crash his maul down into the skull of the nearest mage. The Horror's head exploded into tiny fragments, but the north man was already moving past, forcing himself to keep his momentum despite the horrible chill sapping his strength and slowing his movements.

Stasya was with him then, slamming rushing in behind a torrent of ice blasts and bone spears. Ebon bones froze under Tara's spells, then shattered as Stasya rammed her weapons through the frozen skeletons. Snowhammer slammed his maul down on the skull of one more Horror, then turned to Stasya as the assassin finished off her final attacker.

"Nice weapons," the barbarian said, noticing for the first time that the assassin had given up her _kris_ for a pair of odd, daggerlike blades. One long, wide blade was covered in frost, while the other held a wicked serrated edge. Stasya glanced down at the blades for only a heartbeat.

"It was time to upgrade," she explained simply. Behind them, Xaviar and Wyszemir entered the room, followed by dozens of arrows that bounced off of the paladin's shield or skidded across the floor and walls.

"Keep moving!" Xaviar ordered without even looking over his shoulder. Two skeleton mages rose from the shattered bones of the Horrors, unleashing crackling sparks of electricity into the doorway and the archers beyond.

"This way!" Stasya said, rushing through another doorway on their left. Snowhammer followed the assassin as she surprised a pair of Blunderbores that had been closing in on them. The assassin ripped both her blades through one giant's midsection as Snowhammer slammed his maul down on the other, dropping both their enemies in an instant. As his opponent dropped to the ground, the north man could already see a large, winding staircase leading deeper into the palace cellar.

"Come on!" Snowhammer called out, leading the way. Another pair of Horrors tried to block his path, but the barbarian simply slammed through them with a pair of crushing strikes. Even as they dropped their shattered bones reformed, becoming skeletal mages under Wyszemir's command. "The stairs are here!"

"Then get down them!" Xaviar directed, crouched low behind his shield as a growing number of Horror archers advanced on the group. Wyszemir had already summoned two shield bearing skeletons of his own, but the death mage's undead guard was rapidly being demolished by the cadre of Horrors. Snowhammer followed the order with no delay, taking two or three steps at a time as he raced into the darkness of the lower level. Stasya stayed only a step behind him, her quiet footfalls lost in the barbarian's thundering strides. Behind the two of them, Tara backed quickly down the steps, throwing in an occasional ice blast as Xaviar held off the archers and Wyszemir's constructs tried to slow the Horrors' advance.

Another Blunderbore appeared at the bottom of the steps, growling as it raised its huge club to meet the barbarian. Snowhammer roared in fury and leapt down the last half dozen steps, his maul coming down in a crushing blow. The giant tried to move out of the way of its attacker, but Snowhammer still connected solidly, shattering the Blunderbore's shoulder and collarbone. Before it even fell to the ground Stasya was on it, ramming her frost covered katar through the collapsing demon's throat.

"Good finish," Snowhammer said, turning a faint smile to the assassin.

"You can thank me after it's over," Stasya said, gesturing with her serrated wrist blade. More than a dozen Blunderbores were already advancing on the pair, while ghostly Horrors crept through the shadows, the nimbuses of flame or ice around their hands the only clue to their presence. Stasya brushed a few strands of hair from her dark eyes as she surveyed her new opponents. "We have a lot of work ahead of us."

* * *

"We can't take much more of this."

"At least it seems we've bought ourselves a reprieve, for the moment," Xaviar gasped, turning back to Tara as he tried to regain his breath. Tara had nearly fallen to the floor in exhaustion, her magical reserves all but spent and her arms weak and shaking from fending off the blows of skeletons and Blunderbores alike with her staff. The others seemed to be in no better shape; sweat streamed down Snowhammer as the barbarian dropped to one knee and leaned his head on his maul, while Stasya had dropped back against the far wall nursing a score of minor slashes adn bruises. Even Wyszemir showed signs of fatigue, leaning heavily against the metal bars that cordoned off another section of the palace cellar while his disgusting, skinless blood golem stared blankly ahead with its vacant black eyes. At the very least, the level of the cellar that they had descended to seemed thankfully devoid of any demons.

"I've got nothing left," Stasya said, voicing her own concerns. "Not even enough pieces to put together one more charged bolt trap."

"Yeah, well, we already took out a lot of them," Snowhammer observed, raising the bloodied head of his maul to accentuate his point. "They can't have too many more Blunderbores or Horrors left."

"I don't know if I have anything left," Tara said, turning apologetically to Xaviar. "I don't know if I can muster another ice blast."

"Then you will need this more than I," Wyszemir said suddenly, walking back to the sorceress as he took his satchel from his shoulder. The death mage removed a vial of shimmering blue liquid. "Take it," Wyszemir stated, seeing her hesitation. Tara slowly reached for the vial, uncorking the potion of _mana_ carefully.

"Thank you," the sorceress said, uncertain what to make of Wyszemir's generosity. Wyszemir smiled as Tara put the potion to her lips.

"Ah, but what if the taint in my blood reaches all the way down to the _mana_ I carry with me?" the necromancer inquired, clasping his hands behind his back as he turned away from her. Tara stopped only a heartbeat before she drank any of the fluid, wary of the necromancer's motives.

"Wyszemir," Xaviar admonished. The necromancer chuckled as he turned back to the sorceress.

"Too serious, Tara," the necromancer chided. Tara still held the potion in front of her. "You and I both know that there is no taint in the energies of _mana_."

"You took me off guard, is all," Tara said, trying to hide her frustration with the necromancer. Wyszemir rarely treated her with any obvious kindness, but Tara, much to her displeasure, was forced to admit that the necromancer had been a great aid to Xaviar and even her. That was exactly what bothered the sorceress, and she suspected Xaviar felt much the same way.

"Are we ready to go, then?" Snowhammer asked as Tara placed the empty bottle on the ground.

"You're eager to get back into it," Stasya noted. "Don't you get tired?"

"The longer we sit here, the more time we give the demons to regroup," Snowhammer answered with a shrug. Ever since the attack on Xaviar the previous night, Tara had noticed a marked change in the barbarian; he spoke far less, and seemed only too happy to rush into battle without any regard for his, or anyone else's, safety. Snowhammer had been reckless since they had met, but now he seemed almost suicidal.

"We're low on healing potions," Xaviar observed. "So don't get too far ahead. Allow my prayers to heal you."

"Or don't get hit," Snowhammer countered shortly, standing and shouldering his maul. "We're wasting time here. I know Xaviar would agree with me on that count."

Tara glanced to Xaviar, but the paladin seemed to be studying Snowhammer, his face unreadable. Wyszemir, for his part, moved to the barbarian's side and whispered something into his ear. Snowhammer turned a furious glare on the necromancer, but then turned and started off into the darkness without another word.

"I suppose we should stay with him, before he gets himself killed," Stasya commented, standing and fading into the shadows as she followed the barbarian. Tara slowly got to her feet, looking back to Xaviar as the paladin stopped Wyszemir.

"What did you say to him?" Xaviar asked sternly. The death mage let out a derisive chuckle as he sent a meaningful glance in Tara's direction.

"I told him not to let his jealousy rule him," Wyszemir replied with a faint smirk. The necromancer casually strolled past the two, examining his yew wand idly as he disappeared into the darkness. Tara turned to Xaviar as the paladin slowly began to follow.

"What… did he mean by that?" the sorceress asked, although she had a sickening feeling that she already knew the answer. She could not help the way she felt about Xaviar, but she could only pray that Snowhammer could understand.

"He's just trying to stir up trouble," Xaviar replied, placing a comforting hand on Tara's shoulder. The sorceress forced out a smile, but she was certain that despite his confident sounding answer, the paladin was all too aware of the true meaning of Wyszemir's statement.

* * *

In the palace harem and the upper levels of the palace cellar, the demons had come at them relentlessly, appearing from every shadow and trying to overwhelm them with sheer numbers. Somehow, those waves of attackers were less unnerving than the emptiness of the lowest level of the citadel.

Xaviar eyed the darkness around him nervously, expecting an attack at any moment from the demons that had overtaken the lowest levels of Lut Gholein's palace. The eerie silence and disconcerting lack of enemies kept the entire band on edge; Tara stayed close to the paladin, gripping her staff tightly as her eyes darted across the dim chambers, while Wyszemir cautiously scanned each wall for signs of an enemy despite his apparent nonchalance. Stasya remain largely hidden in the shadows, her newly acquired katars in her hands as she moved from room to room. Only Snowhammer seemed oblivious to the tense silence, striding ahead carelessly through doorways and crossing the large chambers before the others could be certain that no hidden ambushes awaited them. Snowhammer's reckless pace and eagerness to renew the battle worried the paladin; the barbarians of the northern lands fought with a passion that often bordered on uncontrolled frenzy, but Snowhammer's simmering anger was over Tara's rejection, however polite she had tried to be. Nor could Xaviar deny his own part in the barbarian's frustration and anger, however reluctant he was to admit it to himself or anyone else. Tara too seemed to sense the north man's seething emotions, keeping her distance whenever she could. Xaviar could only pray that the small band would not be torn apart by this newest development, but the paladin's hopes were forced aside as Snowhammer came to a stop just inside the doorway ahead. Quickly Xaviar moved to the front of the group, coming to a halt just inside the room where Snowhammer waited.

The newest chamber was not overly large and completely devoid of any furniture, but in its center a shimmering portal of red light pulsed rhythmically, given shape by a light framework of silvery metal etched with arcane symbols. In front of the portal, however, a full dozen demons guarded the gate, spindly, four armed warriors carrying gleaming scimitars and swords.

"Invaders," Wyszemir said calmly. "You may notice their resemblance to the Marauders of the Lost City."

"The arms kind of gave it away," Stasya said quietly, her voice carrying an obviously sarcastic tone. As the two groups took each other's measure, one of the Invaders stepped forward, this one dressed in fine chain mail and wearing a spiked circlet.

"Xaviar of Kurast, Paladin of Zakarum," the demon said, almost reverently. The Invader bowed slightly as he spoke.

"You know of me?" Xaviar asked, surprised by the demon's formality.

"Tales of your band's exploits reach me even in this dark place," The Invader replied. "I am Fire Eye, Guardian of the Gate."

"The gate to the Arcane Sanctuary?" Xaviar concluded. Fire Eye nodded solemnly. "We must pass through this gate, then," the paladin stated. "Stand aside, and you and your companions shall be spared."

"Do not take this route," Fire Eye requested. "There is nothing but death beyond this gate for mortals the likes of you. Withdraw, or your fate shell be the same as others who have tried to pass this way."

"Let us through," Snowhammer growled. Another of the Invaders took a step forward, snarling through his daggerlike teeth, but Fire Eye stayed his subordinate with one hand.

"I beg of you, return to the surface," the demonic chieftain tried once more.

"We must go through the gate," Xaviar reiterated. Fire Eye nodded, closing his eyes for a moment in resignation

"Then you shall die!" the Invader chieftain suddenly bellowed, his eyes opening wide with murderous rage. Crimson flames raced along the blades of the demon's scimitars as he drew them and lunged forward, leading his minions in a furious charge.

Xaviar called upon his Defiance as the demons rushed him, but even the paladin was not prepared for Fire Eye's unnatural speed. The demon reached Xaviar even as he tried to bring his shield into line, slamming home with two scimitars while he batted away the crusader's scepter with his other blades. Sparks and tongues of fire bounced off of Xaviar's crown shield as he tried to block the demon's furious assault, pushing him back under the weight of Fire Eye's thunderous strikes. Clouds of embers whirled around the paladin as Xaviar dropped back on the defensive, nearly igniting his surcoat and scorching his skin wherever his armor did not protect him. Around him, Xaviar could see his companions faring no better; Wyszemir was holding, for the moment, within a tiny fortress of bone walls, but the demons around him were rapidly hacking through the walls or tearing his blood golem to pieces, while Stasya was quickly running out of room to dodge between the Invaders' blades. Snowhammer was slowly being driven back by his own opponents, the sweeping bashes of his maul knocking the demons back for only a heartbeat before they renewed their assaults. Tara was frantically casting ice blasts and frost novas around her as a trio of determined Invaders backed her into a corner, trying to find a way through her spells. Xaviar could only spare a momentary glance to the sorceress before Fire Eye was on him again, slamming away at the crusader's defenses with his fiery weapons. The paladin dropped low and surged forward, hurling Fire Eye back with his shield as he tried to buy himself even a second to take control of the battle.

"Snowhammer! Drop back to Tara!" Xaviar shouted, hoping that he would be heard over the din of battle. For a moment the barbarian simply cast a spiteful glance over his shoulder at the paladin, nearly leading him to believe that the north man would do nothing to aid the sorceress in her desperate fight, but suddenly Snowhammer turned and leapt into the air, nearly scraping his head on the ceiling as he brought his maul crashing around in a sideways blow that drove one Invader into the far wall. As he landed Snowhammer bellowed out a thunderous battle cry, loud enough to shake the walls of the chamber and make his nearest enemies hesitate long enough for Tara's ice blasts to cut through them once more.

Fire Eye was on him then, forcing the paladin to forget his allies as the demon hacked away at his defenses. If he only wielded two blades the Invader might have been tolerable, but Fire Eye's unholy speed and four blades made it nearly impossible to defend. Xaviar raised his shield to block two of the Invader's flaming scimitars even as he batted a third away with Order Bar, but he had no way to stop the demons' last scimitar. The paladin growled in pain and dropped back as Fire Eye drew a long, smoking wound along his hip, then another shallow gash just above his knee. Even as Xaviar dropped to one knee he continued to fight, breaking one of the demon's knees as he lashed out with his scepter. Fire Eye howled in pain but continued to attack, smashing away at the paladin's shield as he towered over the far smaller human.

Stasya hit the chieftain then, her twin blades ripping into the demon's exposed side. Embers danced along the assassin's katars as she struck again and again, forcing Fire Eye back as Stasya attacked with supernatural speed of her own. Xaviar stumbled back to his feet as Fire Eye knocked Stasya back, swinging a powerful sidearm blow into Fire Eye's side as Stasya rolled across the ground and leapt back to her feet. The Invader chieftain whirled back on Xaviar as Stasya rushed forward once more, ripping through the demon with her katars just as Xaviar pounded down with a powerful stroke of Vengeance. Arcs of lightning and a numbing wave of cold rolled out from the paladin's weapon as he struck, but the bone shattering strike was nearly lost as an explosion of flames rolled past the crusader as Stasya's devastating claw attack. Fire Eye howled in pain one last time before the demon's body exploded, hurling Stasya and Xaviar away from the Invader in a shower of unholy fire and gore.

"Xaviar!" the paladin heard Tara exclaim. Quickly he tried to regain his bearings, just in time to see a serrated scimitar sweeping down at his head. The crusader managed to find his shield and bring it in line just in time to knock the blade aside, but as his vision cleared completely Xaviar found an Invader leaning over him, bringing a second blade down on his unprotected throat.

Bursts of ghostly light ripped through the demon suddenly, throwing it back before it could finish its attack. A trio of Wyszemir's bone spears tore huge holes in the demon's body as it stumbled back, then fell to the ground. Slowly the paladin dragged himself to his feet, just as Snowhammer finished a last stubborn Invader with a devastating bash of his maul. On the other side of the chamber, Stasya pushed herself to her feet against the wall.

"Why do I always find the ones that explode?" the assassin grumbled.

"Is everyone all right?" Xaviar asked, scanning the blood spattered chamber for a moment.

"I think we all survived," Wyszemir replied simply as he tucked his wand back into his belt. The necromancer turned to the swirling portal in the center of the room. "Of more import, however, is this gate."

"Fire Eye said this was the portal to the Arcane Sanctuary," Snowhammer said, taking a step forward. Wyszemir put out a hand to stop him.

"And no demon has ever had cause to lie," the necromancer countered.

"We don't have any other choice," Xaviar said. "This is the only thing down here that even resembles a portal."

"We won't know where it goes until we go through it," Snowhammer said. The north man pushed past Wyszemir and stepped into the swirling light.

"Snowhammer?" Tara called out, moving up to the portal. The rest of the band waited for a moment, but the north man did not return or answer Tara's call. Finally, Xaviar shook his head.

"Wherever he is, we can't leave him there alone," the paladin stated.

"Ah yes, I was always interested in the plane of Hell where Fire Eye and his kin spawned," Wyszemir mused. Xaviar turned a sour expression on the death mage.

"Stay if you like," the crusader stated. "I'm going."

"Truly, your determination propels even heathens such as I to greater heights," Wyszemir said with a chuckle. Xaviar leveled one last scowl at the death mage before he followed Snowhammer through the gate.


End file.
